


The Tale of a Mad Inventor

by GenderlessPerson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Harry, F/M, Grey Harry, Harry adopted Tom, Harry-centric, Human Experimentations, Lazy Harry, M/M, Time Travel, Unmotivated Harry, inventions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-11 12:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3327026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenderlessPerson/pseuds/GenderlessPerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What to do… What to do… That was all Harry could think about as he lazed around his home, watching through half-lidded eyes as his adopted son plotted world domination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter.... and I wish that this can be imported from FFnet.

_Date: Unknown  
Location: Unknown_

The oppressive silence of the night was deafening as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Savior-Turned-Hermit, woke up in the middle of nowhere, blind as a bat without his round wire-framed glasses.

A jaw-breaking yawn stretched across his deceivingly young face, with wide blurry emerald eyes blinking in vain to try and clear his clouded vision. Not one to be bothered by the sudden change of his sleeping arrangements – from a dirty _hard_ floor to a field of _soft_ muddy grass – he proceeded to stand on shaky legs.

With an impassive face, he dug through his memories to figure out how he came to this predicament. He was as usual, conducting experiments on poor unsuspecting Squibs – his newest pet project – when he knocked one of his tinkered potions down and fainted immediately soon afterwards. He was clumsy after a few days of all-nighters!

Now that he thought back, it was kind of embarrassing to not know that your own inventions could knock you out in a second after inhalation. At least he could add that into his mental notes; P27 could be used as a formidable knock up gas.

After he… fell asleep… his lab rat must’ve been freed from her bindings – the restrains needed his magic to fuel them. Harry considered himself lucky that he was dumped someplace unknown rather than being violently murdered for kidnaping the Squib and cutting her open without remorse. She was awfully lucky that he fell unconscious after healing her.

Since he was already in an unknown territory without his glasses, wand, and tools (all of his pockets were empty), he decided that he was an idiot for not correcting his eyesight when he was free. He always had the image that glasses and white lab coats would suit his current _occupation_ to a Tee. Oh and now he had to hunt down that runaway Squib before she squeals to the Prophet that the _Wizarding World’s Savior_ is actually a mad _surgeon_ with an addiction of conducting human experimentations.

How bothersome. Next time he would use Muggle restrains… Such as handcuffs and chains.  

Harry decided that he had had enough time dawdling (Merlin knows how long it’s been) and pulled up his left sleeve to his elbows, revealing an arm full of runic tattoos. He bit his right thumb to draw blood, before swiping it to one of his tattoos on his left forearm. Not a Dark Mark if anyone’s wondering. It was a circular shape as big his fist with squiggly lines filled inside – Parselrunes.

The tattoo glowed crimson for a few seconds and Harry waited until it dimmed down enough before plunging his hand into said tattoo. As he slowly began pulling, a miniature trunk appeared in between his forefinger and thumb. The crimson glow immediate stopped and reverted back to the usual black.

Harry, being the _constantly exhausted_ person he was, dropped his trunk unceremoniously down the muddy ground and waved lethargically over said trunk. The leather brown trunk grew bigger in a slow manner, as if even it was as lazy as its owner. 

Harry didn’t mind the wait and plopped himself onto the ground just in front of it. It gave him time to organize his thoughts. After a few more minutes of waiting, it was finally to its original size. 

**_“Godric.”_** He hissed out the password for his tools/weapons compartment in the ancient tongue of Serpents. Harry never did figure out the reason as to why he still retained his Parseltongue abilities even after the Horcrux was obliterated, but accepted the fact with an idle shrug of his shoulders.

He took out various scalpels from within the compartment and absentmindedly placed them on his person. Finally armed and feeling much protected, he closed the trunk and returned it back to its matchbox-sized before forcing it into his tattoo – it was bothersome to wait for the trunk to shrink and his blood to sink into the rune.

“Now… Where the bloody hell am I?” He mumbled to himself as he slowly brought his sleeves down.

Seeing that he could see nothing in the dark, he summoned a few balls of fire to float around him as he began to walk leisurely. A few minutes passed by before he remembered that he could have easily apparated to Leaky Cauldron. He would’ve facepalmed himself if his arm didn’t feel so heavy.

“Perhaps P27 has side-effects that reduce a person’s cognitive abilities...” He nodded to himself absently.

Without stopping his pace, he apparated mid-step and appeared in the middle of Leaky Cauldron just in time for him to continue his next step. He tapped the pattern onto the wall with his fingers sluggishly and entered Diagon Alley with his hood up.

Luckily he had a hood that could partially cover his face sewn onto his lab coat. He disliked how the sheep would point at him whilst gossiping loudly. As much as it satisfied his sadistic side by killing Voldemort, the title of Savior wasn’t worth it. He used to wish that he had had the power to rewind time just so he could sit on a comfy chair to watch how the Wizard Community fight their own battle, but alas, he became too slothful to even think of the _‘what ifs’._

He idly wondered if his personality change came from the need to defy the Dursleys. They always had him run around without rest and when he grew older, he just wanted to sit back and work with his butt firmly planted onto his cushioned seat. It’s a wonder how his body remained fit with his unhealthy eating and sleeping habits. He could only thank Hecate that his structure didn’t turn out like his walrus of an uncle.

With an insufferable sigh, he entered a random shop and headed towards the shopkeeper. The person standing behind the counter was blurry at best and Harry couldn’t even identify the gender.

“Excuse me…” He drawled in a lazy manner – vastly different from the pompous tone Snape used. “Do you mind pointing me to an optician’s shop?”

“No problem lad! Yer eyesight must’ve been really bad if ya can’t see it’s next door.”

“Ah… Left?”

“Nay, right.”

“Thank you.”

Harry walked off without waiting for the man’s – his voice was too deep and husky to be a female – reply. He entered what he guessed was the correct shop and sauntered towards the counter.

“Evening. Does this place do eye-correction?”

“Oh yes! Welcome. Are you in need of it?”

“Yess.”

“Let’s see…” He heard a few drawers opening and closing, some glass clinking together, and finally an ‘Aha!’ from the person. “Here it is. Follow me, lad.”

Harry’s eyebrows frowned when he was mistaken as a young boy once again. He knew he looked young, but that could only be the results of epic genes. The woman waved a blurry hand towards the direction of a wall, and only after standing in front of said wall, noticed that it was actually a door.

“After applying three drops each, you need to wait half an hour without opening your eyes. This is the room where our customers remain whilst they wait.”

He nodded and proceeded to the closest bed inside. It wasn’t as soft as the ones he slept in back home, but it was much better than the floor he usually passed out on. Who knows how many disgusting things had been accidently dropped by yours truly? Even Kreacher screeched about how the stains were impossible to remove.

“How much?”

“Twenty galleon per eye.” That’s was… kind of cheap. He roughly estimated that it would’ve been around hundred or so.

“Alright.”

“Be sure to keep them firmly shut after I apply. It might bring slight discomfort but nothing else.” She reassured as she did just that. After telling him to call her if he needed anything else, she walked off to who knows where.

A few minutes past before his eyes started itching like mad. Harry wondered if scratching was allowed. Not wanting to take a risk that could lead him to him losing his sight, he retreated into his mind so that he could refresh his memories on what his latest test Subject looked like –he needed to hunt her down ASAP. Or maybe have Kreacher do it. He _is_ the Black’s House-elf.

It wasn’t his fault that faces of people that aren’t important were blurred from his mind. His Squib-rat had wavy chestnut brown hair that reached mid back, honey hazel round eyes with thin and short lashes, a bigger than average hooked nose, and sausage lips. She had a round face and her body was average at best, with B cup breasts. She was also naturally tanned.

He couldn’t recall what her name was but he did remember branding his Squib-rat _SR12_ on her left forearm. She was his twelfth experiment and he knew that he would solve the mystery behind why Squibs were unable to use Magic by the end of his fiftieth or so Squib-rats. He was confident and had the right to be. It wasn’t arrogance if it’s true.

His experiments were usually fruitful, like how he had created his very own Philosopher’s Stone with a few more positive additional effects, or what happened to a soul after being eaten by a Dementor. He also did a lot of weird tests and created new Potions and objects when he had sudden inspiration.  

Not wanting to think back to how Dumbledore had locked his capabilities when he was but a mere toddler, he solidified his newest memories into orbs and placed them onto his memory shelves. His mindscape was an exact replica of the Hall of Prophecy, with serpents roaming around to guard the place. Only Parseltongues were able to stop his beautiful guards, since he commanded his lovelies to attack anyone, including allies. He would take no chances since the information pertaining to his experimentations had been stored into his red orbs –they were dangerous to both Magicals and Muggles alike.    

Many would think that he was maybe an intermediate Occlumens due to his mind not having any outer walls, but Harry made it that way due to his sadistic nature. He took great pleasure in viewing a person convulse in front of him when they tried to enter his mind. No matter how many times he had warned the general public that his mind was a dangerous place, some still tried. Of course his snakes had their fun and after a moment, the person would be declared brain dead or insane.

One of his reasons of being a Hermit was because majority of the sheep wanted him shipped off into Azkaban. As amusing as it is for them to accuse him of being a Dark Lord in the making, he preferred lazing around on his bed most of the time if there were no projects to be done. If the work of a Dark Lord was to sleep and work at his own pace, perhaps he would try in the future.

He was dragged out from his mindscape when someone shook his shoulder. Harry discreetly had one of his scalpels in his hand.

“Young man?” The woman’s voice flowed to his ears. “You can open your eyes now.”

Harry did just and retracted his scalpel. His eyes watered at the lighting and he blinked a few times to rid of his tears. His vision was finally cleared and he could see without anything being blurred, much to his relief. Though now he would have to make his own fake glasses to keep his scientist image.

“How is it? Can you see clearly? Any complications?”

“Mm… No complications.”

Harry sat up and handed her the required fee before leaving the store after thanking her. Once he was outside, he froze. Diagon Alley looked different… Too different even with his ten years of being a Hermit in self-exile. He had never seen some of the shops before.

Furthermore, the Wizards and Witches were wearing outdated (more than their already outdated fashion style) clothing that could only be from the 1920s or 30s. Did the Wizarding Community regress whilst he was busy chopping apart humans!?

* * *

 

**_Rainbows and Absinthe,  
GenderlessPerson_ **


	2. Chapter 2

“Human Language”

**“Gobbledygook”**

**_“Parseltongue”_ **

* * *

 

_Date: Unknown  
Location: Diagon Alley_

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there with his jaw slacked open and catching flies, but he was forced to snap out of his stupor when something crashed into him, hard. He was abruptly pinned by a heavy weight onto the ground and he struggled for air.

“G-…Get… off… me!”

The weight left him not a moment too soon and he gulped in air like his life depended on it. _Oh oxygen, how I have missed you so!_ Harry glared, his face flushing red, at the man _still_ straddling his hips. He wouldn’t mind if it was a gorgeous babe or sexy bloke, but this one was definitely not his cup of tea.

The man’s greenish-yellowish eyes were dazed, whilst his straw blonde hair was disarray. Harry’s narrowed eyes became wide for a split second as he recognized the man sitting on top of him. It was Slughorn. A younger, still chubby, version of Slughorn.

Slughorn’s eyes suddenly focused onto Harry and he hurriedly got off. Harry sighed in relief as his eyes went back to their customarily half-lidded state. Slughorn pulled him up with an apologetic smile on his face.

“Oh do forgive me, dear boy. I was busy reading the Prophet you see?” The round man waved his newspaper.

Harry was quick to snatch said newspaper from those chubby digits, not hearing the undignified squawk Slughorn made. He was solely focus on the _year_ : 1937. It was impossible. Even with all his genius (he was not a modest man), he had never accomplished in making a time-turner that could turn back _years_. His latest result was forty-eight hours _at_ _most_ , no more!

Before he could think more on the subject, the paper was plucked out from his grasp.

“I would’ve lent it to you if you simply asked!” Slughorn frown in disapproval. Harry only blinked.

“My apologies… Excuse me.” Harry nodded towards the round man and for the first time in a decade, moved with haste towards nowhere in particular.

The first thing he could think about was how his projects would need to be redone, and all his inventions remade. The second thing he thought about was how he had to rebuild his entire lab from scratch. Lastly, he thought about how he could possibly land in the past –talk about priorities.

The gears in his noggin were turning at a rapid rate as he produced and disposed ideas.

He recalled that P27 was an improved version of a sleeping draught –and a sleeping draught, no matter how powerful, would not be able to make a person travel decades into the past! His time-turner was not anywhere near him at that moment so he could disregard the idea of it being drenched by P27.  

He could try to use trial and error, by remaking the whole scene. But he wasn’t sure if the potion had any side-effects for direct inhalation. What if it was addictive and akin to glue sniffing those Muggles did? His brain would be severely damaged.

A dream, illusion or hallucination is a negative, since nothing in his mindscape was damaged and that he could feel how his sight became clear half an hour ago. Not to mention how he almost died by suffocation just minutes before.

The only thing he could do for now is to set up a place to live, build an underground lab and conduct experiments. If one of his test subjects disappeared or became brain dead, the situation he was in could be clearer –though he doubt that he was currently brain dead… or insane.

With that thought, he turned his heels and head towards Gringotts at a more steady pace.

* * *

 

**“May your gold flow and your enemies bleed rivers, Mr. Goblin**.” Harry greeted with his usual drawl when he reached the front line, more than a little annoyed at the feeling of shortness when compared to the Goblin on the other side of the high counter.  

The creature looked shocked at a wizard speaking his native tongue, but composed himself shortly.

**“May your gold flow and your enemies bleed rivers…”**

**“Potter, Hadrian Potter. I wish to see of any inheritance I could claim.”**

**“Griphook will lead you to room 4, Mr. Potter. Griphook!”** The elder Goblin yelled for Griphook –whom looked eerily young compared to how he last saw him. **“Take Mr. Potter to Inheritance room 3.”**

The younger Goblin bowed and led Harry. When he was about to enter, he turned towards Griphook and thanked him in perfect Gobbledygook, which shocked the Goblin so much that his jaws dropped. Harry smirked lazily and closed the door behind him as he entered. He always loved making those arrogant Goblins lose their composure –the only reason why he even bothered to learn Gobbledygook.

“Three drops of blood in this bowl.” The Goblin spat out bluntly.

Harry took no offence as he knew that Goblins preferred to not waste time –time is gold. He took a seat in front of the Goblin’s desk and cut his finger before dropping three drops of blood into the bowl. He made sure to wipe the dagger clean before returning it to the Gornuk (there was a nameplate). Blood could be used in a lot of rituals, and many were binding. Wouldn’t want to be betrothed to a stranger just because of his carelessness now would he?

They waited in silence since they both had no desire for idle chatter. Gornuk continued his work whilst Harry face-planted onto the desk –he was tired to the _bones_. He sincerely hoped that he at least had one inheritance he could claim. Being a bastard of the Potters wasn’t an option since he didn’t need any limelight –or worst, forced into living with them.

Being a Mudblood was also not an option he desired in his books. He didn’t mind himself being a Half-blood though, since he knew that they were the strongest no matter what those Pureblood scums say. He, along with Voldemort and Dumbledore were living proofs of that fact.

Just as Harry dozed off, he was shaken awake by a grumpy Goblin. Gornuk looked like he wanted nothing to do but sanitize his hands in an instance for even touching _vile_ Wizards. Harry didn’t blame him; he would’ve all but peeled the skin on his hands if he were to touch a Pureblood. Yes he was being blood-cist –but it wasn’t his fault that those scums nearly broke him.

“Your results.” Gornuk bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile as he placed a parchment in front of Harry.

_Name: Hadrian James Potter_

_Blood-status: Half-Blood_

_Age: 32_

_Parents: James Charlus Potter (Biological Father – Deceased), Lily Rose Potter_ _née Evans (Biological Mother –_ _Deceased_ _)_

_Godparent(s): Sirius Orion Black (Godfather – Deceased)_

_Inheritance Results:_  
Secondary Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter by Blood (Lordship revoked)  
Secondary Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black by Blood and Heritage (Lordship revoked)  
Secondary Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin by Blood, Magic, Soul and Conquest (Lordship revoked)  
Direct Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Gryffindor by Blood  
Direct Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell by Blood

It seems that when he traveled to the past, his status as Lord Potter-Black-Slytherin was nullified, and he was a _backup_ of all things. He would be feeling highly insulted about this if he wasn’t a Hermit who hated Lordship gatherings – he was forced to go _at least_ once a year (which he appeared for ten minutes before departing). 

“Mm… Does this mean I could be the direct heir if one of these three were to have an… accident of some kind?” Harry questioned as he peered up lazily to the Goblin whilst he pointed at the first three.

“Correct. Since you are of age you may be the Lord of two of these Houses.” Gornuk pointed to the bottom two. “If the rings accept you, that is.”

“Is it possible to change your name after inheriting those Lordships?”

“It is.”

Gornuk took out two small boxes and placed them in front of Harry. He opened them, revealing two golden signet rings with their respective insignia. The Gryffindor was that of a Lion surrounded by red and gold whilst the Peverell had the mark of the Deathly Hallows.

He placed Gryffindor’s on his left forefinger and the Peverell ring on his left ring finger. They both glowed before resizing to fit him perfectly as they accepted him as the new family Lord. He willed the Peverell ring to be invisible to anyone who doesn’t know of his status.

“I would like to be renamed as Hadrian Seirios Gryffindor (he didn’t want to put –Peverell as well) in my identification certificate.” Harry knew it was unwise to come out with the name Peverell when Grindelwald was running around unsupervised. If he wanted a quiet life, Gryffindor was the lesser evil. “I trust that this will not be getting out?”

“Gringotts will ensure their client’s confidentiality, Lord Gryffindor.” Gornuk bared his teeth, and Harry smirked inwards.

“Is there a vault manager for both?”

“There is. Do you wish to hold a discussion with them now?”

“As much as I would love to sleep right now… Yes I need to see them. Send them my new name certificate whilst you’re at it will you?” Harry answered reluctantly, his face turning into a grimace.

“We will deduct ten galleons from one of your vaults for the test. Griphook will lead you to Meeting room 7.”

The door opened revealing said Goblin, and Harry got up to follow. He paused at the doorway, and sighed inward at his mistake. His mind must be really tired… not that one could blame a Hermit for forgetting basic courtesy.

“Thank you. May your gold flow and your enemies bleed rivers, Gornuk.” Not waiting for a reply, he closed the door and dragged his feet behind Griphook.

_OOOO_

“I am the Manager of the Gryffindor Account, Bloodfang.” An elderly Goblin with white hair said solemnly.

“I am the Manager of the Peverell Account, Sharptooth” An equally old Goblin with a calm voice.

“Hadrian Gryffindor. Firstly, I would like to open two new vaults whilst making a deposit.” Harry drawled as he dropped his chin onto his palm, his eyes drooping in exhaustion.

They were gathered around a round table, with Bloodfang to his right and Sharptooth to his left. Parchments were in front of them containing information about his newly acquired vaults and properties.

“How much will you be depositing, and for whom will you be opening the vaults for?” Bloodfang questioned as he took out his quill. He probably wasn’t expecting much from the _bastard_ son of the Potters.

Harry pulled up his right sleeve, revealing a few tattoos on his arm and bit his left thumb. Back in his own time, he split his gold into halves. One kept inside his vault whilst the other in his rune. Now that he thought about it, his vault gold should’ve tripled after a decade worth of investments. What a waste…

A drop of blood later, he pulled out a golden trunk and placed it onto the table. Both Goblins looked on in interest at the rune designs on his arm, but he ignored them in favor of resizing his trunk. It, like any other of his personal trunks, grew bigger at a slower rate than any normal trunk would.  

Whilst they waited, he began explaining to both Goblins exactly what he wanted.

* * *

 

_31 st December 1937  
Location: Wool’s Orphanage _

Harry didn’t know why he was even here. He really didn’t. Perhaps it was because the boy would draw others in and leave him content in the shadows, or perhaps he had just lost his mind in thinking that the boy would even want to be adopted.

Nobody in their right state of mind would want to bring home a child that would grow into a murderer – a _very_ bloodthirsty killer at that. Well, he was being hypocritical since he himself was a murderer at the age of eleven… or one actually, but at least he didn’t plan on taking over Magical Britain.

He already invested so much for his plans, and he would not chicken out just because Tom Riddle was staring at him without an ounce of emotion on his pretty little face. Yes, Harry would openly admit that he thought Tom Marvolo Riddle, the boy who became the most frightening Dark Lord in history, has a pretty face.  

But no matter how young or pleasant Tom Riddle’s appearance is, Harry felt the urge to cover the boy’s head with a paper bag. He preferred having a glare down with old snake-face. At least he knew that _that_ was a monster in both personality and appearance. This… This however, he was more than _terrified_ at the prospect of how such an angelic little boy could be such a deceiving demon.  

After a few weeks of being in the Past, Harry had set up his own base in Scotland. It was Unplottable and hidden with the finest ward he had known and made. As much as he would love to continue being a Hermit, his name was too well known (being the one of the Founder’s decedent and all) and eventually in the future, the Wizarding population would find out about his genius in inventing. Voldemort _will_ try to recruit him.

What better way than to avoid being branded but to be in the very eye of the storm? Voldemort wouldn’t brand his surrogate father… will he? Something akin to doubt crawled into his mind but he firmly pushed it away.

If everything goes as planned, Tom Riddle would at least be thankful that Harry had taken him out of Wool’s Orphanage and leave Harry alone. There would of course be a lot of… complications, but Harry was not one to back away. He will not have his lazy, carefree life disrupted just because the Light and Dark Lords wanted to have a _catfight_ –not over the same love interest, but to dictate over Britain.

Harry was forced out of his reverie when the boy in front of him cleared his throat. He blinked his half-lidded eyes owlish and tilted his head to the side.

“Yes?”

“Who’re you?” The boy’s dark eyes roamed his figure, stopping short on his white lab coat before looking back into his emerald ones. “Are you a… Doctor?”

“Hmm… Well that’s one way of putting it.” Surgeons cut open their patients, so his occupation was close to that of a Doctor's… right? Harry rubbed his forever stubble free chin in thought (his mother’s genes were _that_ strong). “Hadrian Gryffindor, pleasure to meet you Tom.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“ _Likewise_ , Mr. Gryffindor.”

“Just Harry is fine.” He waved lethargically and sighed. This would take a while to explain and he sincerely hoped Tom won’t make it too difficult for him. How troublesome.

“Do you know of Hogwarts, Mr. Gryffindor?”

Harry tilted his head. How did a young Tom Riddle know about Hogwarts? Unless this is an alternate universe or…

“Harry please. This is probably off topic, but are you eleven yet, Tom?”

“I turned eleven today sir.”

“Were you told about Magic by Professor Dumbledore?”

“Yes sir.”

“Thank Merlin I don’t have to explain.” Harry mumbled to himself and grinned lazily. “To put it simply, I’m here to adopt you.”

“Why? Why would you want me out of the other orphans?” Ah, Tom always wanted a confirmation that he was special… Different from other children.

“Tell me.” Harry shifted, slouching more into his seat. “You can do things, can’t you Tom? Things others would only dream of doing.”

Tom looked as if debating if he wanted to answer truthfully or not. Finally, with an unrecognizable light in those dark eyes, he gave an innocent smile. It was more terrifying than reassuring for Harry – he could live without seeing that smile, thank you very much.  

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make _things_ happen to people who’re mean to me – I can make them hurt, if I want.” Tom’s smile turned dangerous when he spoke the last part. Harry hid a shudder. Were little children this scary or was Tom an exception?

“That’s all the reason I need to adopt you.” Harry drawled as he slouched against his seat. The chair was uncomfortable and he very much preferred his beanbag chair/bed. “We’re similar, you and I.”

“Similar?”

Harry nodded and mumbled under his breath. “I find this chair too hard for my liking.”

With that, he wandless and non-verbally changed the leather armchair into his favorite emerald green beanbag chair. He sighed in content and gave the boy a lazy smile. Tom’s eyes narrowed as he looked between the newly transfigured chair and the person sitting on it. Without warning, the child stood up and decided to start poking his seat.

Harry gave Tom all the time he needed and closed his eyes. Maybe Tom would let him have a few short moment of shut eye. Much too soon, he was shaken awake by a frowning dark haired boy.

“Five minutes…” He rolled over and promptly fell out of his temporary bed. With an unsatisfied groan, he crawled back onto his chair and focused onto the child, still blurry eyed. Tom looked anything but impressed at his petulant behavior. “Fine I’m up. Do you have any questions, Tom?”

“How old are you? You look no older than sixteen, maybe seventeen.” He looked at Harry expectantly.

“I’m 32. I just have good genes.”

“Hard to believe with not only your behavior, but your attitude as well.” He whispered under his breath, and Harry heard it but choose to ignore it in favor of rubbing his eyes childishly. Tom suddenly scoffed in disbelief. “So you’ll just adopt any magical child you come across?”

“Well… No. Not really. You’re special… in a way. If you agree to be my… adopted son…” Harry never really had family apart from Padfoot, so he didn’t know how to take care of anybody, especially children. “It will be beneficial for you to learn about the Magical Community before you enter Hogwarts.”

Tom looked on contemplatively as he balanced the pros and cons.

“Alright. When will we leave?”

“After I sign the papers. Go get packed. Call Mrs. Cole in on your way out will you?” Harry said as he stood up, his beanbag chair returning into that uncomfortable armchair the second his butt left the seat.

Tom just nodded and left.

The Matron walked in soon after. She tried to get him to adopt another child, anyone but Tom, but Harry promptly ignored her and signed all the necessary documents. With everything done, he collected all of Tom’s important certificates and documents before heading up to room 27.

“Tom?” The child turned towards the door, in his hands was a metal box. “Do you need help?” He asked reluctantly –it was polite after all.

“I’m almost done.”

Harry leaned on the doorframe as he watched the boy pack, his eyes scrutinizing his newly adopted son. Tom was far too skinny for his liking and as loathe as Harry would admit it, he felt momentarily bad for the young Dark Lord. Wool’s Orphanage was having a money crisis at the moment apparently.

He would have to take Tom shopping for new clothes and school supplies… That would be tiresome. How he detests crowds. Finally after a few more minutes, Tom nodded towards him. With Tom’s permission, he shrank the boy’s satchel and kept it in one of his many inner pockets his coat provided.

They both made their way outside the building with many children whispering behind their backs. Harry’s eyebrows twitched as he heard a comment on how he would be selling Tom’s organs to the market for some drugs – his pale skin does not make him look like a junkie dammit!

Once they were far enough, Harry ushered Tom towards an empty alleyway near them, with his hand in between the boy’s shoulder blades. Tom tensed when he was touched, but Harry didn’t really care. Tom would warm up to him soon… Maybe.  

“We’re using a Wizarding form of transportation called Apparation. It’s like teleportation – do you know what that is? Ok good– You would only feel a slight discomfort in your stomach.” Harry held his hand out. Tom hesitated for a second before placing his much smaller hand onto Harry’s palm.

Harry slowly pulled Tom close and wrapped his free arm around the boy’s slim waist. In a second, they both disappeared from sight with nothing but silence.

* * *

**_Rainbows and Galleons,  
GenderlessPerson_ **


	3. Chapter 3

_Location: Leaky Cauldron_

The people at Leaky Cauldron’s Apparating area jumped at the sudden entrance of Harry, whom had silently appeared together with a paler than before faced Tom. He chided himself internally at forgetting the fact that average Magicals had a difficult time containing the cracking noise when they Apparate. In fact, Voldemort was the only one apart from him to achieve that –Dumbledore preferred grabbing his burning turkey’s tail feathers to apparating.  

“Alright there Tom? You’re not going to throw up are you?” Harry hoped not. Just in case though, he took a few cautious steps back.

Luckily for him, Tom slowly shook his head and took a few deep breaths to gather himself. With that, Harry trailed towards the entrance and opened it, his adopted son right beside him. Tom couldn’t contain a gasp of awe, but he was quick to compose himself –Harry was indeed impressed at how in control of his body Tom was. Diagon Alley was as crowded as usual, more so in this period of _peace_. That’ll all change soon enough.

“Welcome to Diagon Alley, Tom.” His lips twitched into a half-smile and held out his hand to the boy. “May I have this _privilege_ of holding your hand?” He was given a distracted nod and Harry hummed softly. He would need to install something called _Constant Vigilance_ into Tom’s mind – wouldn’t want the young Dark Lord to get kidnapped because of his good looks. Pedophiles were everywhere.

Tom almost jumped when his hand was held, but accepted it reluctantly nonetheless. Lest they be separated in the crowd. Harry walked slowly, so slowly that he could see Tom’s irritation building, and the only reason why Harry took notice was because of Tom’s eyes –they were the windows to one’s _soul_. The boy’s facial control was simply amazing, more so than those scums that call themselves Pureblood children –they usually get used to schooling their features at the minimum age of fifteen.

Mini-mort and Voldemort were different. Like how Tom’s emotion could still be seen through his eyes, whilst Voldemort’s were unreadable (actually, his crimson eyes would go from blank to bloodlust when Harry’s in range). Slytherin would do good for Tom, they would force him into improving, and destroy those things people called limits. Harry always wondered why Magicals thought there were _limits_ concerning Magic (maybe because they grew up in the environment or they were just not that creative as him). Magic is just that, Magic –they have _no_ limits. One of the oh so many reasons as to why Voldemort became the most powerful and frightening Dark Lord in history.

Much later than average, they arrived at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. The shop was empty of people except for an elderly woman behind a counter. She welcomed them with a smile.

“Good day boys. Did you both outgrow your uniform?”

Harry’s composure faltered for a second –he hated how people would mistaken him for a school boy. He knew that he looked no older than a seventh year (could even pass for a sixth year actually, but he would deny that with acid) and only reached a total of 5’6 in height. He followed his mother’s frame of being lithe and… not quite as tall, but the real reason why he was unable to grow to his full capacity was all thanks to his _loving_ relatives. Malnourishment does that to people.

Tom on the other hand, was taller (by only a bit) than your average eleven year old and would continue to grow into Voldemort’s towering height of 6’4 (he always felt like a rabbit when standing in front of Voldy, a terrifying experience he always tried to avoid) once he’s older. Probably got that from his Muggle father –Voldemort should thank Tom Riddle Sr’s genes for being so dominant in the looks and height category. He shuddered at the thought of Voldemort looking like those Gaunts –but on the other hand, Voldemort did inherit the Gaunts’ insanity (worse than the Blacks actually).

“Hello ma’am. My _son_ is in need of a full wardrobe. Tom prefers darker colors… don’t you Tom?” He questioned the boy beside him.

“Yes… sir.”

“Harry, please. I don’t mind not being called Father," he shuddered at the thought. "but none of that _sir_ stuff.” Harry grimaced and gestured for his adopted son to stand on the stool.

“Father? You look quite young to be one... Please list everything, including fabrics and colors sir.” The elderly woman questioned with an almost disapproving look on her wrinkled features. Did she think he would impregnate a woman and left her or something? He wasn’t that irresponsible, and he preferred looking from afar –touching was strictly off limits.

“Perhaps.” He shrugged carelessly as he watched Tom stand gracefully on the stool –the boy’s eyes focusing entirely on him from the mirror’s reflection. “Seven everyday robes in Acromantula silk, three in black, two in dark green, and two in dark blue. Pajamas in silk, and boxers in cotton, seven each in dark colors… except grey.” He added in as an afterthought. Wool’s Orphanage had grey uniforms, and as much as the color suits Tom, he would think that the boy was sick of said color.

“Ten pairs of all occasions black pants, fourteen shirts, six in white, two in black, three in dark green, and three in dark blue –all in the highest quality material you have. A thick winter robe in black, and a normal black cloak with a hood attached that could shadow most of the face. A set of winter gloves, and also a pair of silk gloves.”

Should he buy Tom’s Hogwarts’ uniform or wait until August…? Tom’s a growing boy… But he didn’t wish to be in Diagon Alley when it’s filled with students shopping for their school supplies. He continued after a few seconds of silence.

“Hogwarts’ standard uniform –also in Acromantula silk, but be sure to make it a little bigger. Two pairs of shoes, and also… Do you have basiliskhide boots?”

Madam Malkin blinked owlish before shaking her head. “The last Basilisk found was a few centuries ago I’m afraid –they’re too deadly too hatch, but we do have dragonhide.”

Harry didn’t even bother to contain his snort. There was a thousand year old Basilisk underneath Hogwarts and Harry could sneak in some later time –he could ask for some of its scales and venom. Or maybe he could ask Tom to do so....

Nevermind. It would be troublesome if the school closed because Tom accidently used the Basilisk to kill some students there.

“That will do, Madam.”

He leaned against the wall sluggishly, staring at his son who was containing a (cute) scowl at being prodded by the woman. He was amused and turned to the door when it opened to reveal a father and son duo of blonde. Harry blinked and promptly turned away. Hopefully he would be disregarded as a Mudblood –with his Muggle attire consisting of a normal dark green polo shirt, black sweat pants (that was tailored to look like trousers, it was softer than those stiff formal ones and he could wear this version in Pureblood gatherings without them knowing that there was something amiss about his pants) and a white knee length unbuttoned lab coat. 

Madam Malkin greeted the two purebloods with familiarity. Malfoy Sr waited stiffly beside him whilst Malfoy Jr stood with his head held high on the stool. He looked ridiculous in Harry’s opinion –and Tom seemed to share his thoughts by the look in his eyes.

“Your brother?” Malfoy’s tone was polite, but Harry could detect the scorn in it. Pureblood scums. Why they even bother to make polite talk was beyond him –social niceties was something a Hermit doesn’t require or understand. Tom would look lovely in any clothes, but unfortunately, he was currently wearing orphanage rags –those were not considered clothes even by Harry’s standard (which was saying something since he would often forgo changing shirts, a slob if you will).

“No.” Ignore him, ignore him. Give standard one word answers and he’ll leave you alone.

Malfoy raised a brow at him. Those grey eyes scrutinized his (Muggle) attire, (slouched) posture, (sleepy and bored) facial expression and fingers for any signs of rings. Too bad his hands were in his coat pockets.

“A… _Muggleborn_?”

“Half-blood.” Malfoy smiled politely at Harry before turning to look at Malfoy Jr. That’s right blondie, turn away from his magnificence!

With Tom done, he gave Madam Malkin their home address to owl their order before dragging Tom out the door. He didn’t wish to stay near the blonde any longer. He was getting uncomfortable with the blonde’s constant _subtle_ gazing –and he wished the shop was filled with shadows so that he could blend into the background easily. 

“Sir? Who was that man?” Young Tom questioned as they walked.

“Mm… Call me Harry. That’s Lord Darius Malfoy. I’ll give you a book containing the Sacred Twenty-Eight afterwards.” With that, Harry pulled Tom inside of Ollivanders.

The sound of a small bell rang throughout the shop as they entered. The place was dusty and messy as usual, with boxes littered everywhere and anywhere. He turned towards the man on one of the ladder and waited as the old man climbed down. Tom was glancing around with a mask of polite interest.

“Welcome! Hmm… I have never seen you before… A Potter? No… A Black? You look far too much like a Black with Potter hair and Slytherin eyes.” Ollivander mumbled to himself as he stared at Harry with those creepy tennis ball eyes of his. Even after years of getting to know Garrick Ollivander, Harry had not gotten used to the constant staring the elder man would do when near him.

Ollivander was a thin old man, with white hair reaching his shoulders. Those silver tennis ball eyes were wide open as he stared at the pair. Harry counted in his mind, slightly perturbed that even after a few minutes had passed, the man refused to do the common thing humans usually do, blink their bloody eyes. Seeing that Tom was feeling just as uncomfortable as him (even if it was clearly hidden), he cleared his throat to gain the wandmaker’s attention.

“Tom and I are here for our wands, Mr. Ollivander. Not to discuss my ancestry.” He drawled.

“Naturally.” The old man nodded. “Which one of you will go first, Mr…?”

“Gryffindor and Riddle. Tom will.”

Ollivander’s eyes went a little more wider, if that’s even possible, at the mention of his last name.

“I must say… I am honored to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gryffindor.” His lips twitched into a smile. Harry knew that the old man would never tell a soul –client confidentiality and all that. Ollivander hummed as he scanned the boxes nearest to him before pulling out a random (in Harry’s opinion) box. “Your wand arm, Mr. Riddle?”

“I’m ambidextrous, but I prefer my left.” Tom said, his left arm lifted slightly.

“Wonderful wonderful! Usually I would give you two wands, but alas, the Ministry made it a rule of ‘one wand one wizard’.” Ollivander said sadly, but smiled enthusiastically after a second. “I’ll be taking some measurements then…” The wandmaker trailed off as four sets of tape measures started measuring everywhere. Harry hid his amusement at Tom’s bemused expression when it measured between his eyes.

Ollivander looked at over a sheet of parchment containing the measurements, before he placed a wand onto the counter and gestured for Tom to pick it up after swatting the tape measurers away. His adoptive child barely grasped the wand before it shot out flames of epic magnitudes. Harry was quick to snatch Tom’s hand away and sniggered when Ollivander frantically patted his own clothing.

When the flames were finally diminished –the old man finally remembered that he was indeed a Wizard– he reached for another box. This time, Tom cautiously took it and gave it a testing flick, only for the ladder to fly through the air and impaled itself into one of the many windows.

Harry chuckled when he heard a few passersby shrieked in surprise.

“Dragon heartstring seems disagreeable…” Was muttered as Ollivander flicked his wand and everything was back to normal, before he took another box. Another flick from Tom and the chandelier came crashing down just missing them by a few hairbreadths away.

“Apparently not this length… Perhaps this one.”

All the glass lanterns shattered into millions of pieces, a few grazing his person. Harry touched his cheek and brought his blood stained fingers in front of him. It has been quite some time since he was injured by another party. Absentmindedly, he licked it and gave a lazy smile when Tom looked at him in disgust –not at all sorry for hurting another person (his adopted father at that).

“No... no, definitely not. Are you alright, Mr. Gryffindor?”

“I’m more than alright, Mr. Ollivander.” He purred and healed the scratches with an unconcerned shrug of his shoulders.

Harry decided that this would take far too long and conjured an emerald green beanbag chair, deciding to take a small nap. He didn’t know how long this continued for, but when he was woken up by a distinct feeling of a yew wand, he groggily stood up to stretch.

“Shall we try this then, Mr. Riddle?” A familiar white wand was handed towards Tom, who didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

Just as Tom held the yew wood, his eyes widened as he gasped. The wand shook and a green mist wrapped itself around Tom, almost like a snake, before disappearing entirely.  

“That, dear child, is a powerful wand. 13½’’, Yew, Phoenix feather core. We can expect great things from you, child, great things indeed.”

Tom could only stare at his bone white wand with awe as Ollivander turned to him. Harry gave a lazy wave.

“Perhaps…” The man was quick to snatch a box and placed it atop his counter. Harry opened the slender box, revealing a dark brown wand with an almost grey handle. It was beautiful and he could sense the wand calling to him.

He picked his wand up with much care. He closed his eyes, taking pleasure at the feeling of heat rushing through his veins, the wand pulsing pleasantly alongside his heartbeat. With a small sigh of satisfaction, he opened his half-lidded eyes and flicked the wand casually.

Dark crimson waves of magic could be seen leaving the tip of the wand, snaking around his body very much alike Tom’s had. He looked up at Ollivander, who was smiling happily in joy.

“Curious.” The elder of the three began, his gaze flicking from the pure white wand in Tom’s hand, and to his beautiful dark brown one. “The wand you’re holding, Mr. Gryffindor, is a very unusual combination of Holly and Phoenix feather, 11’’. What makes it even more unusual is that the Phoenix that produced the feather for your wand gave only one other feather.”

Ollivander turned towards Tom. Mini-mort looked at the wandmaker curiously.

“That feather resides in the wand of young Mr. Riddle here.”

“What does that mean, sir?” He asked politely, whilst Harry hummed quietly to himself.

“It means, child, that both yours and Mr. Gryffindor’s wand are brothers. It is rare indeed, Mr. Riddle, to have your core be so compatible with Mr. Gryffindor’s.”

The youngest of the three looked at Harry with suspicion in those dark orbs, and Harry inward groaned. He sincerely hopped that Tom would not think that Harry was his uncle… or biological father. Even family members don’t have similar cores like theirs, but Tom wouldn’t know that.

“You will both do great things, Mr. Riddle, Mr. Gryffindor. A total of fourteen galleons.”

“Do you sell wand holsters and wand kits here, Mr. Ollivander?”

“Certainly! Forearm?”

“Yes. One each for Tom and I.”

Ollivander explained to the both of them (he tuned it out whilst Tom listened) about how to maintain their wands and holsters, whilst giving them a demonstration just in case.

Harry reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the required amount of galleon after the wandmaker finished. It seemed that wand prices had not changed even after decades. He handed the gold to Ollivander and strolled out with Tom behind his heels.

“Where to now, sir?” Tom asked as he avoided the crowd as much as possible.

“Harry.” He reminded absentmindedly. “Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. We need to activate your vault and get you a key.”

They stopped just outside a white building that was bigger than any other in Diagon. Harry turned towards his adopted son. “Be respectful to Goblins. They’re… vicious if you get on their bad side.”

They walked up towards one of the counters, and much to Harry’s delight, were escorted to the front by one Goblin he recognized from his daily visits to the bank. Being Lord Gryffindor has its privileges –he didn’t have to queue and waste his much needed time. The Founders had helped the Goblin build their bank back then, and their heirs were treated almost as royalties. The other Magicals looked at him with scorn but he paid no heed to them.

“May your gold flow and your enemies bleed rivers, Gripclaw.”

“May your gold flow and your enemies bleed rivers, Lord Gryffindor.” His title was said softly. It wouldn’t do good for Wizards to hear his name.

“I would like to activate Vault 1373.”

“Very well.” The Goblin’s eyes turned towards Tom. “Is he the one?” Was sneered out.

“Yeah.” Harry handed a needle to Tom as the clerk took out a small bowl. “Drop only ten inside, Tom. **_I’ll tell you the reason why after we reach home_**.” He hissed out softly, and much to his amusement, Tom turned his head quickly after hearing Parseltongue from Harry’s lips.

The suspicion in his eyes was doubled but he did as told; only dropping ten in the bowl. Harry healed Tom’s finger and banished the needle to who knows where. The bowl glowed for a second before the blood gathered and began forming into a small dark red key. Whilst the key was slowly being formed, he explained to his son that this would only allow him to be able to access his vault, and not even Harry could.

After a few questions were asked and answered, they waited until the key was hardened and recorded. They were then escorted by Griphook, who sneered when he saw Harry, though not unkindly.

Harry dragged his feet towards the waiting Goblin almost reluctantly. He hated the damn rollercoaster cart ride. They should at least get some seatbelts for safety.  

“Hadrian… As much as it amuses us Goblins at how lazy you could be, I would appreciate it if you would stop stalling.” Griphook snarled, though there was hidden amusement and no malice. After his first visit to Gringotts in the Past, he came by every other day to discuss business with his Account Managers, so the Goblins were pretty much used to his slothful ways.

“I’m not lazy…” He drawled, ignoring Griphooks disbelieving scoff. “Just constantly exhausted.”

During the damn rollercoaster ride, Tom had held onto his arm with a death grip, and he could only sigh in relief after they had hopped out of the cart. He drawled out to Tom about Wizarding currency, the amount he has inside his vault, and all the other things he deemed important enough to mention.

He got Tom a pouch that was connected to his vault and they rode back. He waved to Griphook and they continued towards the Leaky Cauldron for some grub. The place was more crowded than before, much to both of their annoyance.

“Hello there.” He greeted the young man behind the counter. “Are there any secluded booths in the back?”

“Of course!” The man nodded enthusiastically, smiling at the both of them toothlessly. “I’ll lead you there.”

The two followed behind until they reached their destination.

“What can I get for the two of you?” Was said.

“Steak and kidney pie for me, along with butterbeer.” Harry said as he rested his cheek on his palm.

“Some sandwiches and tea please.” Tom said stiffly. Harry wondered if Tom’s stomach was too small for more heavy food –he looked too thin.

“Alright, be back in a jiffy.”

The man arrived shortly after, two trays levitating behind him. He settled the trays in front of them, which Tom and Harry both thanked him as they started eating. Harry munched on his pie as he observed the boy seated directly in front of him.

He could clearly see how starved the boy was, but Tom would never stuff his face like Ron. All his movements were filled with elegance as his son took a bite of the sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and repeat –almost mechanically.

They were silent the whole meal, not that Harry cared. It was too troublesome to hold a decent conversation. He idly wondered if this adoption would really work out well… And perhaps he should just kill the boy and be done with it.

He _really_ didn’t want to get involved in the war between Voldemort and Dumbledore, but as much as he tried to convince himself that killing Tom Riddle was the best solution, he just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Tom, and technically, he hasn’t killed anyone yet. Sure he has traumatized those Muggle orphan children, but they deserved it.

No matter how apathic Harry seemed, he despised bullies. His own childhood of him being beaten and manipulated was something he wasn’t proud of, and sometimes he wished he was stronger –like Voldemort was. He was weak to allow those people who were lesser than him to beat him, to humiliate him, unlike Tom Riddle, who stood up and fought back. Dumbledore would say that it was the opposite, Tom being the weak one to succumb to the temptation of hurting them back, to get revenge, and he was the strong one to resist.

…Dumbledore doesn’t know shite about what he’s talking about.

Voldemort was strong. Harry Potter was weak. That was why he ran. 

* * *

**_Rainbows and Grudges,  
GenderlessPerson_ **


	4. Chapter 4

_31_ _st_ _December 1937  
Location: Diagon Alley, Flourish and Blotts_

After they had filled their stomachs, Harry brought Tom to Flourish and Blotts to shop for Tom's school supplies. For a self-proclaim genius, he had made an elementary mistake of introducing a bookworm to a bookstore. He really should've ordered everything via owl.

He had begun to think that time traveling had the side effect of decreasing his much-beloved brain cells.

Just as they entered the store, he was rudely (in his opinion) waved off by his charge with a–  _'You're my… father now, are you not? Parents are supposed to shop for their children, and only when the child is old enough do they stop. Get the books on this list for me, please?' –_ after being given a list of school books Tom was required to have for Hogwarts.

Firstly, Harry had no idea about parenting or being a guardian. He had always been an independent child that did everything by himself – even going as far as to shop for  _his_  guardians (not by choice, mind you). So when the eleven-year-old told him that parents usually shop for their children, he just shrugged and went along with it. Tom should know, right?

...

..

.

…Of course not. They were both orphans for Merlin's sake!

He bitterly regretted his go-with-the-flow attitude so very much right now as he dragged his feet around the store, throwing book after book into the shopping basket without much care if they were being damaged in the process.

For Tom, he was taking full advantage of his free time to read every text he got his thieving paws on.

Harry jutted his bottom lip out, pouting as he turned towards where he last saw his young charge at. The boy was leaning on one of the many bookshelves as he read through the tome with utter relaxation. Harry glared moodily at Mini-mort. He didn't want to be a father anymore. Wasn't there an exit button he could press or something?

Maybe he'll re-create his time turner… No, it'll take too long and even if he managed, Tom will  _still_  be his son. He was stuck with the boy for seven or more years!

As he was busy bemoaning his misfortune inwardly, he slouched further, feeling his much-needed energy levels depleting at a rapid rate. He needed sleep to reenergize himself… or maybe a Pureblood to dissect – for relaxation purposes of course. He never did anything without a reason.

He scanned the basket once more to confirm that he had everything in the list and sauntered towards the counter. He placed the shopping basket on top of said counter whilst deciding that he didn't want a repeat when buying other necessities for Tom's schooling. He paid the cashier and shrunk his load, before moving towards Mini-mort.

"Tom." He sluggishly poked the boy's shoulder. Tom twitched. He turned to Harry with a polite smile. "We're going home."

Mini-mort snapped the tome shut and nodded slightly, looking far too displeased in Harry's eyes. He turned around to walk towards the exit, not even caring that he had left his back wide open for attacks –what could such a young child with no Magical experience do to him anyway?

_OOOO_

"Here we are." Harry pointed to the house (manor actually) he was currently staying at with his chin, hands still resting comfortably inside his pockets. They were currently in front of his home's iron gates –that looked too gothic in his opinion.

His house wasn't as ginormous as the Malfoy's, not that he could not afford it, but rather he felt it was too big for two people. Really. That was all.

…

…

… Fine. Big houses meant more walking, and he didn't like that. If he were to buy a Manor the same size as those peacock obsessed blondies, it would take exactly eight minutes and forty-seven seconds to walk from the entrance hall to the ballroom. Wasn't that just torturous!?

He had to walk eight, almost nine minutes when he attended the yearly 'Pureblood' gatherings (or a meeting where they showed their wealth) that those pompous greedy politicians go to. Every time the Malfoys volunteered to use their Manor, Harry would always feel dread. He had no wish to stay for more than ten minutes (ignoring that he walked nine minutes) at the bloody gatherings.

… He digressed.

The house was colored exactly as the goblins had described it to be –oddly colored due to the previous owner's eccentric personality. Splotches of colors were mixed together in a random pattern, almost as if someone took a huge bucket and threw it around without thought.

Hadrian just left it as that. It was unique in its own way. The yard, or garden, was full of dead greenery. It was something similar to where Muggles would envision their imaginative Vampires to stay at. All the flowers were withered, leaves were nonexistent on the blackened trees, and statues had their heads or limbs missing. Harry dubbed it as the 'Garden of Missing Body Parts' and ignored its entire existence –it wasn't as if anybody would be taking a walk there anytime soon.

The mansion was located at the border between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, however, it was hidden by the giant trees that were surrounding the area. It was two stories high if one would not include the dungeons below (which was off-limits to Tom), with an unknown amount of bedchambers – he didn't bother exploring after choosing his own.

The west wing held rooms with specific purposes, like the library, whilst the bedchambers were at the opposite side. His two house-elves, Bibby and Bloopy, had cleaned the whole building so Harry wasn't all too worried about there being any dangerous cursed artifacts lying around unattended, and he had already checked all the books in the library – which contained all three types of Magic; Light, Neutral, and Dark.

He, of course, took precaution to ward the shelves that the dangerous tomes were located at, and until it deemed Tom ready, it would not allow his adoptive son to read them. He wasn't biased to Dark Magic, knowing that he could use Light Magic to torture or/and kill someone just as brutally.

Harry focused on Tom's expression, which was one of concealed awe and ambivalent, from the corner of his eyes and started to walk towards his circular double doors – which was rainbow in color by the way. Harry idly wondered if this mansion used to be owned by Albus Withtoomanymiddlenames Dumbledore before discarding that thought immediately. It would be unpleasant if it were.

Tom was at his heels and as they reached the porch, the doors opened automatically with a slight creak. His two elves (which were twins by the way) were bowed with their noses grazing the floor. Their way of showing respect, he reckons. 

"Welcome back Master Hadrian sir. Will Master Hadrian sir and guest bes wanting lunch?" The two asked in unison.

"No." He handed all of Tom's things to the left elf. The two looked identical so he couldn't really tell them apart. "This is Tom Riddle, or Tom Gryffindor in private, my recently adopted son. Take those to the bedchamber I had you both prepared."

"Yes, Master Hadrian sir." They popped away after another low bow.

Harry turned to Tom as he pulled his mid-back length hair into a (messy) top knot, with strands falling unevenly around his face. Tom's expression was full of curiosity.

"…What were those things?"

"They're creatures called House-elf. Bibby and Bloopy are their names though it's hard to tell which is which." Harry hummed in thought before he continued. "They serve the Wizards and Witches they're bonded with, however, they do not see it as slavery, but something they enjoy. They were once of a Noble race of Elves, but because of their ancestor's treachery, they were cursed to be what you've just witnessed."

The Elves were an ethereal race once upon a time… With blonde silky hair and aristocratic features that could put many Purebloods to shame – the Malfoys included.

"Who cursed them? And what did they do… sir?"

"Call me Harry." He corrected absent-mindedly and sighed tiredly at the thought of more talking. "Their Elders. These houseelves were once bloodthirsty and very dangerous creatures. Their descendants, however, are humble and preferred the life of peace… some anyway." He thought about Kreacher and snorted. That elf was as bloodthirsty as his Masters.

"The group rebelled against the majority of their kind. The Elves were a very peaceful race, but even creatures of the Light can be corrupted. They became more and more violent, and one day, they disobeyed the Elders and massacred a village full of our kind.

"As an act of compensation, the Elders cursed those rebellions and gave them to the Wizards and Witches that had their relatives killed. They soon became known as houseelves to degrade them of their pride, Elves are very prideful creatures, and only could they survive if they were bonded – thus began their life of slavery began.

"Remember Tom," Harry's eyes narrowed as he turned serious. "Light is not equivalent to good, and Dark is not equivalent to evil. Be wary of everyone that holds power, because if they are strong, they are dangerous – no matter what their Magic affiliation is. Absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Albus Dumbledore was the prime example. He holds a tremendous amount of Light Magic, but the power got into his head and he turned into a manipulative dictator that was even frightening than Voldemort. To Harry only, though. 

Voldy was honest in his world domination plan at least. He never once lied to Harry. Albus however, lied time and time, again and again, until Harry had lost faith in trusting humans – with Voldemort being the only exception. What could be said about Harry's moral and mentality if he trusted a psychopathic megalomania of all people?

Harry forcefully shrugged off the memories, his face returning to its bored and tired state once more. He blinked his half-lidded eyes and smiled at Tom.

"Welcome to Odd Manor." The name wasn't his choosing by the way. It was the previous owner's.

Tom gave him a blank stare and Harry just shrugged. Tom would get used to his behaviors and the likes after a week of staying in the same home as him –especially the way he would start explaining something half way before feeling that it was too troublesome and changed the topic.

"I would give you a full tour, but I myself have not explored this place." He didn't bother to say 'yet', knowing that he would rather be cooped inside his lab than explore empty chambers.

Harry moved towards the dining area with Tom just a step behind him.

"Dining area." He gestured at the long mahogany dining table with nine seats in total, seven at each side. "You may eat whenever you like."

"Will we not be having our meals together, sir?"

"Harry please." He was getting tired of repeating that. Why was Tom so troublesome? "I eat in my study." Lab actually… and only when his houseelves threatened to spoon feed him. Even this Manor's houseelves were odd – apparently they were free and came with the house he bought. He sometimes regretted bonding with them.

"Families often than not have their meals together." Tom stated matter of factly, the smile on his face bright like a cheerful child. "Aren't we one?"

Harry inward grimaced at how real the smile looked. How he wished Tom Riddle wasn't such a pulchritudinous boy.

"Indeed, we are… And since we are just that, will you start calling me Harry?" Harry turned around and started to walk towards the living area, near the entrance hall (and staircase).

"Harry then." Tom agreed, though there was reluctantly hidden in his way too cheerful voice. "But back to having meals together…"

… And here he thought the change of subject wasn't too obvious.

"Before I forget," Harry was quick to interrupt and smiled innocently at his charge, who looked annoyed at the interruption. "always use this before you eat or drink anything that was given to you, even if it were from the two houseleves."

He handed a potion bottle pendant that was linked to a chain via the cork, with a silver snake coiling around said bottle. It was filled with transparent liquid – this concoction was labeled as P7 by him. Tom only stared at the mini potion bottle in his palm before looking at Harry suspiciously. Did that boy think Harry would poison him?

Really… Why would he waste his precious time to brew an undetectable poison if he could just throw the Killing Curse (this took the least effort) at Tom?

"What is this?"

"It's a potion."

"Potion?" Now Tom was looking at him dubiously.

"Ah, I keep forgetting that you're Muggle-raised…" He murmured to himself before speaking up. "A liquid with healing, magical, or poisonous properties." A straight textbook answer. Snape would be proud.

"… poisonous?" Maybe he should've left the last one out.

"That potion in your hand is not poisonous. It actually detects poison… So be sure to put a drop in any liquid or solid you were given for consumption purposes." He drawled, looking far too bored. "Even if it were someone you trust, one can never be too careful. Though I would advise that you do so without them noticing – it may break what little bond that person has with you."

He thought back to Dobby and grimaced. The elf had wailed and sobbed for three days straight before Harry had given up and made a bullshit of a story about him having a prank war against the twins and was afraid that they had swapped Dobby's food with a poisonous one. Luckily the elf was gullible or he would've had to endure the house elf's constant crying for ages.

"This is the living area, and visitors would normally floo here if they were granted access."

"Floo?"

"It's a mode of transport in the Wizarding world, from one place to another by means of Floo Powder and a fireplace. I would give you a live demonstration, but we can wait until you need to go to Hogwarts."

Harry swore he saw Tom's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. He hid a grin and headed towards the staircase. He ignored the animated scenery painting of the ocean and walked to the west wing, intending to show Tom the library – which would undoubtedly be the boy's constant place of visit.

"Harry." Tom called out. "Is it normal for the paintings to be moving?"

"It is."

Tom waited for Harry to elaborate, but after another minute of walking in silence, he gritted his teeth in frustration.

"May I ask why?"

He looked over his shoulder at the boy and stopped in just in front of the library's door.

"You may. A very complicated series of animation charms was placed upon the paintings. It can be cast on pictures and portraits as well. It also can be considered wholly another branch of magic in itself though many would disagree with you and just say to use a simple animation charm."

He pushed the door open and entered. The library was bigger inside thanks to the expansion charm the previous owner placed.

"As you can see, this is the library. You are welcome to read any." And he meant it.

Tom made a move to enter, but Harry closed the door and continued the tour. Only after he was ahead, did he hear the sound of feet tapping against the marble floor following after him. It seemed like there was another thing to teach his son after all – how to walk stealthily and silently. He couldn't really leave the future most dangerous Dark Lord walking around like an elephant even as a child.

After another few minutes of walking from the west wing to the east wing, Harry pointed to his study and bedchamber.

"This is my study. It's attached to my bedchamber so if there is anything, feel free to enter. Yours, however, is over there." He waved to the chamber beside his study.

"Is that all, Harry?"

"Hmm… Yeah, that would be all."

"Alright. May I be excused?"

"The library?"

"Yes, si– Harry."

"Go on then. If you need anything, clap once and call for either house elf."

Harry turned around and headed towards the direction of the staircase, intending to work on his unfinished projects… and to track down a certain someone just to be sure.

Deep in his thoughts, he didn't notice how Tom's smile had faded away and only an icy glare remained, boring holes into Harry's oblivious back.

* * *

_**Rainbows and Bookworms,  
GenderlessPerson** _


	5. Chapter 5

_07 January 1938  
Location: Scotland, Odd Manor_

The dimly lit room was filthy. Empty cracked bottles and various objects scattered the tiled floors whilst decomposing guts splattered the walls. Harry was beyond frustrated as he rummaged through the drawers, cabinets and shelves to no avail.

Regardless of where he looked, he was unable to find his main ingredient, Bleeding Tooth Fungus, in any of his seal-runes or his storage rooms. It was important that he have that bloody fungus for his P15. Without it, the potion would not be strong enough to bring the desired effect of his experiment!

Why the bloody hell did his main ingredient have to have been discovered in 2008? It was preposterous!

Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair, causing all the minute excess innards and unknown substances he had unintentionally collected underneath his fingernails and upon his palms to transfer onto his forehead and hair, the red chunks of his experiments intestines a stark contrast to the deep black of his hair. With no other option left, he strode out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him – uncaring when a lot of glass bottles shattered behind him from the impact.

He exited a cupboard – identical to his childhood  _bedroom –_ which was linked to his underground dungeons and made his way towards the private dining area. He didn't know why he preferred a cupboard under the stairs as his storage room, but he blamed it on his relatives. There were a lot of things he blamed his relatives for, actually.

Having placed a Fidelius charm on it and acting as his own secret-keeper, only he was aware that this Manor even had a cupboard underneath the stairs to begin with. Call him paranoid, but it had saved his life more times than he could count. And after all, it wasn't really paranoia when others were really out to get you.

Harry suddenly froze in place at the entrance to the dining area and covered his eyes with both his palms – moaning in pain all the while. When did the sky become so bright?! It burns! His retinas were burning!

* * *

_Tom's POV_

The sound of someone entering the private dining area off of the kitchen (upon exploration he had discovered that there were actually two, one for private usage whilst the other was for guests) made Tom look up from his cereal. He stifled the scoff that desperately wanted to appear on his usually stoic face when he saw who exactly that person was.

Hadrian Gryffindor, his so-called adoptive father, was currently covering his eyes with both of his hands and moaning as if he were in pain from just being in the presence of sunlight. It wasn't even  _that_  bright.

Tom's dark eyes roamed his guardian's body, taking note of all the… disgusting unidentified  _things_ … on every inch of his person. To be frank, Harry looked far worse than a homeless person that hasn't showered in decades. His coat was beyond disheveled, what with all types of colored liquid splattered on it, and Tom swore that the dark red liquid soaked into the man's sleeves looked similar to blood – almost as if Harry had just finished digging through the guts of a human or large animal. Harry's dark strands that used to be hair wasn't tied, and had chunks of…was that  _meat?_  Tom wrinkled his nose in disgust. He would not abide by a guardian who didn't know the meaning of the word hygiene.

The state of the man's coat and hair wasn't the only thing that caused Tom to grimace. Both of Harry's hands were covered in a greenish goo-like substance eerily in likeness to swamp slime. Tom didn't even want to know what was underneath the man's fingernails. Overall, Harry looked so revolting that Tom couldn't stifle his grimace of disgust as he placed his spoon on the table beside his bowl, his appetite having fled the second Harry had stepped into the room. He wasn't even halfway through his cereal!

The sound of his spoon being placed on the smooth tabletop alerted Harry to his presence. As if they were led weights, his guarding dropped his hands from where they were still covering his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the large windows dominating the wall behind Tom to stare at him in confusion, his green eyes blinking owlishly not only to rid them of the tears even now welling up, but as if he had all but forgotten Tom's very existence! Harry was the only adult, with the exception of Mrs. Cole because  _technically_  she had raised him, who he could not charm. It made him furious, yet there was something akin to pleasure as well – he was intrigued by his guardian.

When his eyes had first landed on Harry's figure sitting on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs with a bored look on his face at the orphanage, he had been instantly drawn to the man. He had never felt anything like it before – like the man was a  _part_  of him. Like a connection was made without him even knowing.

Harry's appearance had made Tom's fascination with the man heighten to new levels. Hadrian Gryffindor looked similar to Tom, or the other way around since Tom was the younger of the two. Their eyes may be a different color, but the facial structure and the shape of their features were far too similar for it to be mere coincidence. This had made Tom suspicious of the man – Harry could be his father, although he first thought Harry to be his brother due to how young the man looked.

"Good morning" he greeted with a charmingly fake smile.

"Tom…" Harry's tone was, as per usual, bored. It made Tom's finger twitch for his spoon – he wanted to hit the man so badly, and he wasn't even one to resort to physical violence! There was nothing about Tom Riddle that was  _boring_. Nothing at all! "It has been…ah…awhile."

This…this…this  _man_! He really made Tom's mountain of patience crumble!

"A week" he replied flatly.

"Ah…? I beg your pardon?" Harry responded stiltedly, his confusion obvious.

Harry would be begging more than just a pardon when Tom was older! How he fantasized on making this infuriating specimen of mankind drop to his knees and  _beg_  to be in Tom's very presence.

"It's been a week since."

Tom had been left alone for a week. A week! Him! Alone! A week! It was irresponsible for an adult to leave a child – not even a preteen yet – alone for a  _week_. Even the caretakers back at Wool's had not left him alone for so long, regardless of how much he wished that they did.

"Oh…" was Harry's  _bright_  reply as he scratched his cheek in embarrassment – the man's pale skin tone made the sudden flush obvious. "Ah…so…what have you been up to this past week?"

Tom's smile vanished as he deadpanned at Harry. Really? That was all? Not even asking the basic question of 'Oh, how are you adjusting?' The nerve of this man! Tom mentally slapped himself for losing his cool and forced himself to cheerfully scoop up some of his now soggy cereal and bring the spoonful up to his lips. Disgusting.

Sighing inaudibly under his breath, he stared into his cereal bowl. He hadn't even been in this man's presence for a total of twenty four hours and he was already on the verge of losing his temper. He didn't know how Harry did it. Even those brats from Wool's were unable to shatter his mask so easily – and oh how they'd tried. Harry just needed to stand there with his usual bored and half-lidded expression and Tom was ready to blow a lid. Mentally, that is. However, he figured that it would soon be physically. It was unhealthy to suppress so much anger and frustration. He should make his new guardian buy him a diary so that he could pour all his hate and anger inside – he had heard that it was therapeutic to  _unbottle_  his feelings.

With that thought in mind, he looked up…only to blanch at the state his guardian was in.

"I sincerely hope that you are not intending on contaminating the fridge by touching it with  _those_  hands" he said sharply, horrified at the mere thought of Harry touching  _anything_  with those…those…awful  _excuses_  for hands.

Said hands, one of which was already half-way to the fridge's handle, thankfully froze. Tom sighed inwardly in relief as he tilted his head to the side cutely. Harry only blinked at him. Tch, so adorable doesn't work on the man as well. He really needed to find a weakness to exploit.

"And may I ask exactly when the last time you actually took a shower was?" The smell of rotten meat and fruit were enough to make a normal person heave out their food in repugnance. Luckily enough, Tom was not a normal person and could suppress such undignified reactions. For however long was another matter altogether. The odor was intense and he hoped that Harry would get the hell out of the dining area soon lest he gag like some uncouth brat.

Harry had the gall to look confused. Tom resisted the urge to walk up to the man and strike him where it hurts most – Harry was  _that_  infuriating. He took a deep breath (and almost gagged) to calm himself and used his eyes to boldly roam the man's body.

Harry thankfully got the hint and looked down. He sighed as if it were a chore and idly ran a hand through his hair. It made some of the slimy green substance stick on the birds-nest the man called hair and Tom had to withhold a shudder. That was absolutely disgusting. How can his guardian could even feel comfortable with those… _substances_  on his bare skin was a mystery Tom  _never_  wanted to solve.

Much to Tom's amazement, with a single wave of his hand over his body, Harry's clothing was suddenly squeaky clean and neat. Next was his hair and soon to follow was his face and hands, his resulting appearance making it seem as if Harry had always been that clean. There wasn't even any lingering smell.

So this was Magic… Astonishing…

"Yes" was the short and simple answer. Tom almost deadpanned. Almost. He kept his face relaxed with a tiny smile on it.

"How much have you read concerning Magic, Tom?" Harry questioned as he once again made a grab for the fridge, but this time Tom made no move to stop him. He looked clean enough.

"Just the basics." He could only learn so much in just a week after all, no matter how smart he may be. Eidetic memory has a downside to it – his eyes tired faster than the average person, and he needed to rest them lest he wanted to require eyeglasses.

"Do you need me to clarify anything?" Harry asked as he took out a tin of pineapple, Tom taking a mental note of Harry's sparkling eyes as he stared at the tin. Bribing material acquired. Who knew that such an unhealthy looking (Harry was beyond pale) person could like cold canned fruits? Perhaps Harry had an unhealthy addiction to sweets or something similar.

"Yes actually. In all the books that I have read, it has never once covered how I could go about discovering which category my Magic falls into." He was curious, and judging by the books' content on Dark Magic, his fell into that category – but he wanted to be absolutely sure.

Harry kicked the fridge door closed and walked up to the seat opposite him and sat down. He then stretched out his right hand and a spoon came sailing towards his outstretched hand – which he caught. Nice reflexes. Tom didn't know what Harry did, but to be able to peel a metallic can open with just two fingers was noteworthy – the can had no ring atop of it, the lid was smooth.

He felt more than saw Harry's Magic (if he assumed correctly) travel along his arm and focus at his fingers and then pooling there before Harry peeled the fruit can open. Tom needed to research this more. Magic might even be capable of giving a person superhuman strength, but first he had to learn how from Harry – which could take quite a while from what he had observed of his guardian thus far. He assumed that the man would rather sit on his lazy arse than help Tom on his path to greatness.

"Mainly it's hereditary" Harry finally answered as he scooped a piece of pineapple from the can. "If your parents are both Light, you'll be Light. If they're Dark, you're Dark."

"What if one of them was Light and the other Dark?"

"Not many Light orientated magical's would ever want to sleep with a Dark witch or wizard, little own procreate with them." Harry said nonchalantly as if he were not discussing two people mating with one another with an eleven year old – Tom only knew about this because he got curious when two teenagers at Wool's had decided to read a magazine full of scantily dressed women. "But if that were to happen, the child would have a 49% chance of having a Grey magical core."

"What about the other 51%?" It was annoying that he needed to prompt Harry into answering his questions fully. He stirred his soggy cereals idly as he listened attentively.

"Not 51. It's 50%. The child would have a 50% chance of following their mother, and a 1% chance of following their father."

"Why their mother?"

"Because she's the bearer of the fetus." He stated matter-of-factly as he fingered his spoon.

Again Tom would've likely been lost, like any other eleven year old, if he had not researched this very topic. Really, he would never recommend Harry to be a teacher – or manage to convince him. The convincing part could even be considered harder.

"Which category does my mother fall into?" His eyes sharpened, but Harry didn't notice – he was too busy relishing in the taste of the canned pineapple. What was so good about canned fruits anyway?

Harry's lips parted, however the answer made Tom rather disappointed. The man sure was alert, even when eating. Humans tend let their guards down when enjoying their food –something he always took full advantage of in order to gain information. He was beginning to simultaneously resent and respect Harry.

"She could be any" Harry said absently as he spooned yet another piece of pineapple whilst lazily resting his cheek atop his palm and his elbow on the table. "But since you're an orphan, there is another way to know which category you are."

"Before that, you said that it's mainly hereditary. Why mainly?"

"Mainly because there is a minuscular chance, and I mean  _very_  minuscular chance of a child changing their core to suit their personality. This however is only for those who have yet to reach their magical majority."

Harry sighed tiredly as if the whole thing was a waste of time to explain. Tom reigned in his anger and plastered a small innocent smile on his face, which was ignored by Harry in favor of a piece of pineapple. This man…really pissed him off. He was inferior to a bloody pineapple of all things! Tom reigned in the urge to throw a tantrum.

"The child's upbringing and mentality are the key factors to changing their category. For example, if a child from a Light orientated family came to despise Light spells and preferred Darker ones – they would likely use those during a duel or just daily living. Their core would then be forced to adapt to that change, and if the child is determined enough, the change may become permanent."

He thought about it for a moment whilst playing with his extremely soggy cereal. This meant that his parents could be from any category – since he was not raised by either of them, and his personality was  _darker_  than most children.

But wait… How did Harry know that he was a half-blood? His suspicions of Harry being his father rose as he narrowed his eyes at his cereal. His hearing was excellent and his memory retention was even better – he had heard Harry's one sided conversation (on the stranger's part) with a blonde man during their impromptu shopping trip. Harry had said that Tom was a Half-blood, but how could he possibly have known that unless he was his father, or at least related to him in some way?

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind – this wasn't the time to be caught in his own ruminations. He needed to know which category his core fell into, and besides, his guardian was bound to slip up sooner or later.

"You said something about a way of me knowing which category I fall into, without needing to figure out who my parents are" he said airily as he watched the man before him.

Harry stirred his spoon around the can for a moment before sighing tiredly. He absentmindedly munched on a piece of pineapple before dropping his spoon into the now empty fruit can. Tom only continued to stare as his guardian stood up to stretch.

"Wait here whilst I retrieve the things that we require."

"Why not just summon them?" Tom knew that Harry would rather do just that – the man was too lazy for his own good.

"It's better to do things such as those the Muggle way. If I were to summon them to myself, it could potentially mess up the results due to my magical residue."

His dark eyes followed Harry's back as his guardian rummaged through the kitchen cupboards and drawers, leaving a mess in his wake. He grimaced at how messy Harry was being and swore to himself that he would at least try to force Harry to be a cleaner person – he would not introduce his sloppy guardian to his future minions otherwise.

He was lucky that Harry had house-elves. If not for them, this Manor would undoubtedly be a pigsty by now. The things Harry brought back made him raise both eyebrows in surprise and doubt. Why would they require a…heart shaped egg pan of all things, a bottle of oil and a banana?

Harry placed the pan atop the table before pouring the oil to its brim. He waved his hand motioning to his side, as if inviting Tom to stand next to him. Tom rose from his seat and stood beside his guardian, curious at what the man would be doing.

"Let me show you an example." Harry said as he took a small portion from the banana into his right hand and the pan's handle in his left. "First, you direct the flow of magic into your chosen hand, and maintain it before gently pushing it into the handle. It's similar to…" He cut himself off with a slight frown marring his youthful face.

"Similar to…?" Tom urged.

"To how you handle a wand" he settled on.

Oh. He felt a tic appear on his temple at being underestimated and pulled out his Yew wand from his right sleeve, where he had made it a habit to strap his holster and gave it a sharp flick. His magic travelled from his core and into his left arm before flowing out through his wand. Red sparks came out from the tip and he mentally smirked at Harry's subconscious nod of acceptance.

"It looks like you've been practicing. That's good then."

"I have." He returned his wand to its previous place and tilted his head upwards – he hoped puberty would hit soon. He hated being short.

"Right then… It's like what you just a second ago did. Direct your magic into the pan, and see the results."

The oil that was within the pan suddenly had bubbles, and Tom's eyes widened slightly at hearing the sizzling noises – it was boiling. His guardian then dropped the piece of banana clutched in his right hand and they watched as the banana all but blackened before instantly melting into goo.

"If the oil boils and fries your chosen food, it shows that the person has a Grey core" Hadrian drawled as he dumped the contents indifferently onto the floor at the opposite side of Tom.

"Fry…? The banana didn't just fry…" It melted, just like the floor. He was transfixed as he observed how the oil was literally  _eating_  through the floor as easy as a knife slicing through butter.

"It depends on the wizard's magical prowess – it matters not how small their core is, skill is far more important." Harry stated nonchalantly as if he had not just admitted to being skilled enough for his Magic to cause the oil to melt through the bloody floor. Tom didn't know if this was the result of many Grey wizards, but he would have to find out – he needed a grasp on how strong his guardian was if he wanted to force the man to his knees.

Just as Harry was about to pour oil into the pan, Tom took hold of the man's slender wrist.

"Perhaps another pan?" he suggested pointedly. He did not want to risk his hand being burnt by the extreme heat the pan was emitting – he could literally see how hot it was by the wafting steam alone.

"Hm? Oh." Harry blinked owlishly, as if only just noticing that the handle was burning hot, before dumping the pan onto the melted floor. Tom's eyebrow twitched in irritation as he suddenly felt like a parent watching their child going outside to play without cleaning up their toys first.

Harry rummaged through the kitchen cupboards yet again before pulling out a bunny-head shaped egg pan and placing it in front of Tom, who merely deadpanned. Who would want their eggs to be in the shape of a rabbits head? He personally preferred his eggs to be normal, round and sunny side up.

He watched as Harry poured oil into the new pan. Once his guardian was done, he grabbed the handle and narrowed his eyes in concentration. It took him a few tries, but he finally managed. It was definitely harder than he thought it would be to direct his Magic into a non-magical object.

A few moments passed by with him not seeing any results. It made him frown and just as he was about to push more magic into the pan, Harry stopped him.

"That's enough, Tom" the man drawled as he took the left over banana and shoved it into…his  _mouth?_  Was this man a pig in human skin?! "Congratulations, your core is Dark."

What?

"Nothing happened, Harry." He stated as he continued to stare at the oil as if it had done him wrong – which it had.

"Something happened alright. Magic isn't always what you see – sometimes you can't always trust your eyes. Try lifting the pan up." Tom was rather doubtful but did just that, only for him to almost drop the pan in shock. It was heavier than it looked. Too heavy in fact.

"If weight is added to the oil, it means that your core is Dark. You should practice this in your free time and try to master it."

Tom was baffled but he took Harry's advice to heart. Magic wasn't always what it seemed, and he would not think inside the box when it came to Magic anymore. Maybe Magic has no boundaries, and humans are the ones who created them? He made yet another mental note to research such possibilities – were wizards able to fly with the aid of Magic alone?

"What would happen to the oil if the person's core is Light?"

"I'm not really sure." Harry brought a hand to his chin in thought. "I actually learnt this from a Dark… _wizard_. His oil was incredibly heavy, and was even able to break through the floor." He saw his guardian shudder and was instantly curious.

"Who is the wizard? Is he someone famous?"

"More like infamous…" he heard his guardian whisper under his breath – it was probably said unintentionally. "The wizard was a Master in all three categories of magic – Dark, Grey, and Light. Even though he was a Dark  _wizard_ he was able to master the other two. An incredible feat that many could only dream of accomplishing."

That didn't answer his question of who the wizard was though.

"What about you, Harry?"

"Who knows?" Harry smiled lazily at him. "I've never really had difficulty in performing Light or Dark based spells, but I've never gone all the way to mastering them like he did. Really…he was someone I admired once upon a time. Though his personality leaves much to be desired" Harry added as an afterthought, a grimace crossing his face as if he were remembering something particularly unpleasant before his expression returned to its usual bored one.

He was now extremely curious about who this wizard was. Someone that this lazy, slothful, sloppy man admired? Now that was someone he wanted to meet.

"Oh! And do not, and I repeat, do not inform other people about your status."

"Status?" He tilted his head.

"Of you being a Dark wizard. Since the 1400's, Dark wizards were considered evil in the eyes of many and if you admit to being one…Azkaban is the only place they'll ever send you to."

Azkaban… He had read about the infamous wizarding prison with its soul sucking guards in a book a few days ago. Not a place he wanted to go – though he would gladly throw his enemies, such as the children from Wool's orphanage, there.

"Why? They are born with a Dark core aren't they?"

"Yeah. Light wizards make up the majority of the wizarding community. Tom, in this world, there are no such things as racism according to skin color. The only thing that is similar to the muggle world's racism is Dark and Light magic and blood purity. Grey Magic wielders are…  _rare_  as I previously stated, and not many Dark wizards and Light witches or vice versa would sleep together – so the community just decided to conveniently forget that my kind exists."

Tom could only stare at the lazy man as his eyes turned from half-lidded to serious.

"Many have forgotten that it is not the magic that is evil, but the intention of the caster." Harry sighed and gave a jaw breaking yawn. "Is there anything else you need me to clarify for you?"

Oh how he hated this man for always changing the subject when it got to the good part. It was the same for the elves as well. He wanted to know more about them, but Harry only waved him off and said to look them up. How was he supposed to look them up when he couldn't find the correct book?!

"Hogwarts" he said decidedly as he seated himself in his previous seat and picked up a glass of milk. "I would like to know more about Hogwarts."

Harry slumped into his seat opposite Tom and rested his right elbow on the table with his cheek cradled in his palm.

"Hold on. Bloopy!" Said house-elf popped slightly away from the table and bowed until her nose grazed the floor. "Clean the place up – the kitchen as well. Thanks."

"Yes Master Hadrian sir. Is you's be's needing anything else?"

"Nope."

The elf turned to him. "And you's, Young Master Tom sir?"

"No."

Bloopy begun cleaning the mess Harry made.

"Now then. What do you know about Hogwarts?"

"I only know that there are four Houses. From Dumbledore." He brought the glass of milk to his lips and took a few sips. He didn't trust the old bearded man – he stank of deceits. "I couldn't find any books containing information regarding Hogwarts in this Manor's library."

"Did he tell you what the Houses are called?" Tom nodded. "What about the traits of each House?"

"He did not." He shook his head lightly.

"Alright." Harry sighed as if it was all a bother. Tom was getting used to the man's attitude and just continued to smile lightly. "As you're already aware, the four are called Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. They are named after the four founders that built Hogwarts in…the late Early Middle Ages."

Harry's left hand rose lethargically and he sloppily drew the Hufflepuff crest in the air by channeling his magic through his middle finger. It was a poorly drawn image, but still recognizable.

"Hufflepuff values hard work, patience, loyalty and fair play. The emblematic animal is a badger, representative of earth, and yellow and black are its house colors. Yellow represents wheat, whilst black represents soil. Basically, this House is where all the leftovers are sorted – though if you've attained their loyalty, they will never betray you."

That meant that this was the House where he could potentially gain minions that would literally die for him. He was definitely going to keep an eye on this one.

Harry drew Ravenclaw's crest next to Hufflepuff's. It made Tom raise a brow at his guardian's drawing ability, or in this case lack thereof. He had seen better whilst in the orphanage, and that was saying something.

"Those sorted into Ravenclaw are usually witty and have a profound love for learning. The emblematic animal is an eagle, representative of air and its House colors are blue and bronze. Blue represents the sky, whilst bronze represents the eagle's feathers. Simply put, Ravenclaw's are a group of know-it-alls, however they could be used as great research lackeys."

He made a mental note to form a study group with members of this House.

Harry drew the Slytherin crest above Hufflepuff. Good Lord, it really looked as if a five year old had drawn it.

"Slytherin is the House for those who are cunning, resourceful and have great ambition. The emblematic animal is a snake, representative of water, and green and silver are its colors. Green represents the green lakes and lochs dotting Scotland whilst silver represents raindrops. This is a House where you build connections and dance around with words. Dark pureblood families more often than not land in this House, and many Light magical's believe that only evil wizards and witches are placed there. As I said before, it's the House of the cunning, not evil. Those who are sorted into Slytherin often come out great – so ignore such discrimination."

He would definitely be aiming for this House. He needed connections if he wanted to find a suitable job in the Ministry and not some random job such as a shop keeper in order to become the Minister of Magical Britain.

Harry drew the last and final Hogwarts House beside the Slytherin crest.

"Lastly is Gryffindor, the House of courage, chivalry and determination. The emblematic animal is a lion, representative of fire, and red and gold are its House colors. Red represents the lion's mane whilst gold represents its coat. This is the house where all the stubborn and foolish children go to. They are easily tricked and usually tend to solve things physically instead of mentally or verbally. To put it bluntly, they're the polar opposite of Slytherins and this is one of the many, many, many contributing factors as to why students belonging to the two Houses can never get along with one another."

Tom raised a brow at the description of the House as he tried to imagine Hadrian  _Gryffindor_  as chivalrous and determined.

…He couldn't. It was impossible to even put Harry and chivalry or foolish or easily tricked into the same sentence. His minds image of Harry was a slothful, unhygienic, lazy and constantly tired pale man with selective memory. He didn't have a high opinion of his guardian, but who could blame him? He had not seen Harry for a week after the man had literally left him alone in this Manor to do who knows what.

Harry batted the drawings away like they were merely annoying flies before dropping his arm to rest on the tabletop as if it weighed like lead.

"Did you get that all?" Harry questioned tiredly.

He raised a brow when Harry rubbed his jaw, as if he had never spoken that much before, and nodded his head.

"Yes… Though I do have a question" he added, vindictively amused when Harry looked incredibly reluctantly to answer anything more. Tom grinned inwardly. It was incredibly pleasing to see that he was the cause of Harry's aching jaw – he knew that it was childish of him, but he could act his age at times. He had to get his kicks somehow, right?

"What is it?" Harry sighed.

"Your family name is Gryffindor. Does that mean that your ancestor was the one who built ¼ of the school?"

"Yes. Godric Gryffindor was my many times paternal great grandfather."

Tom only stared at him as he stood up from his seat.

"We will continue this another time. I need sleep…"

"… Alright. See you later, Harry." Harry waved lethargically and dragged his feet out of the dining area with much difficulty.

His eyes followed his guardian's unaware back as he begun to plot ways to get Harry to admit that he was indeed Tom's father – or someone related to him at least. And after Harry had finally admitted to the truth, he would make Harry regret ever leaving him at Wool's for eleven painful years.

* * *

_**Rainbows and Frustrations,  
GenderlessPerson** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited by Anankastic Eosphoros (the reason why it's so much better than my other chapters)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a Christmas Special chapter I posted on FFnet. Think of it as an Extra or Omake. 
> 
> Contains sexually explicit materials. I advise you to read alone, or in a corner where nobody can look over your shoulder.

_25 December 1944  
Location: Scotland, Odd Manor, One of Harry's many Nests_

Harry was having a ferocious headache as he rubbed his temples with a groan. Tom had been a pain in the arse, literally and figuratively, last night. Holiday seasons were not his cup of tea (and that brat knew that!), and he was awfully busy with his current projects to celebrate such a useless occasion. He burrowed deeper into his fortress of pillows and sighed in pleasure at the comfortable feeling of warmth.

"Harry?" Tom's muffled voice made him stifled a groan. That boy was too persistent for his own good! Did Tom not see that Harry was busy right now? 

"Harry I know you're awake in there."

He continued to ignore the teenager even after he had heard the door creak open. It has been six years since he had adopted one Tom Marvolo Riddle, now officially Tom Marvolo Gryffindor, and he has regretted that decision ever since – still do actually (sometimes). He wanted his easy going and carefree life style back. Oh, how he wished Santa was real so that he could wish for such a thing.

"I'll throw away that metallic bird you're so very fond o–"

Harry shot up from his fortress of pillows – destroying them in the process – and grabbed ahold of his adopted son's front shirt tightly.

"Don't you dare touch Ms. Tweetiepoo, Tom!"

"Good morning to you as well, sleepyhead." Tom grabbed ahold of his chin, tilted it upwards and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips, which he responded to almost instinctively. Harry's cheeks turned a little rosy and he scowled at the cheeky brat.

"…Good morning, Tom." He murmured as he freed his chin. "You better have a bloody good reason for waking me up so damn early."

"One does not call seven in the evening  _early_. Really… I thought your habit of sleeping in was already gone."

"Whose fault do you think it is?" He whispered under his breath sulkily.

"Did you say something?" Tom gave him a blinding smile and he stiffened.

"Nothing at all!"

Tom only nodded as if expecting that answer and began leading him with his hand firmly placed on Harry's small of the back. He mentally waved his makeshift bedroom, which was a closet filled with blankets and pillows, good bye and mourned the loss of yet another one of his hiding  _nests_.

"Where are we going?" He drawled tiredly.

"Shower."

"… Why would you wake me up if you wish to take a shower?"

"Not me. You."

"I could just –"

"I will tolerate you using Magic for everything else, Harry. But you  _will_  be taking a shower the Muggle way." Tom's eyes hardened and Harry nodded hurriedly. "Good. I've already prepared your attire – it's on the bed, so be sure to don those on."

"Yes, Tom…"

"I also expect you to drink your nutrition potions as well. Not a single drop should be left behind."

"Yes, Tom…"

"And for goodness sake stop slouching."

"Yes, Tom…"

"You're not listening are you?"

"Yes, Tom…"

"Hadrian Seirios Gryffindor!"

Harry jumped in surprise before turning to Tom, who looked murderous. He swallowed inaudibly and shifted nervously. One does not simply ignore Tom without consequences.

* * *

He idly blew another soap bubble as he continued to shampoo his long hair, with much difficulty he might add. He winced as yet another knot was pulled roughly by his lethargic digits. Was this why Tom kept on pestering him to brush his hair daily? He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cold tiled wall in front of him. He closed his eyes once he had finished rinsing his messy nest thoroughly. Using a body cleanser charm was so much easier and less time consuming than this.

His Avada colored green eyes shot opened in surprise when he felt a pair of slender yet muscular arms wrapped around his waist almost possessively, and he looked over his shoulder at the person who was interrupting his alone time. It was not a surprise to see Tom behind him, already naked as the day he was born. He leaned against the muscular chest behind him and parted his lips to speak.

"There's another empty bathroom across the hall, Tom." He drawled as his head was titled to one side.

"There is," Tom paused to trail kisses down his side of the neck and shoulder slowly. "however the bathroom here has my very naked lover inside. It's obvious as to which I would prefer."

"What if I wanted to shower alo–" he bit a side of his cheek to stifle a moan that had threatened to slip passed his lips when Tom nibbled on his (very sensitive) nape.

"All you have to do is ask me to leave." Tom whispered into his ear, and it caused his whole body to shiver uncontrollably. Damn this brat for having such a husky, erotic voice. And damn, puberty has done well to Tom. 

He felt hands trailing down his body before he was turned and pushed roughly into the wall of his shower stall – their chests touching and with one of Tom's long legs between his. The feeling of Tom's lips that were instantly upon his own made him wrap his arms around Tom's neck to pull his lover closer. He parted his lips to allow Tom's dexterous tongue entry, and moaned at the unique taste of his lover. Their kiss lasted for a while longer before they broke apart for air, and stared at each other's darkened, lust-filled eyes.

Their gaze was broken when Harry blinked and Tom was on his knees – a sight many would think impossible, for Tom was a very prideful teenager. Harry's breath hitched when Tom's tongue ran over the tip of his erection, his hands fisting Tom's damp dark hair. His lover's dark, slightly crimson eyes never left his half-lidded ones, as he began to suck the head of Harry's hardened length. He was unable to contain the throaty moan that had left his lips when Tom slowly swallowed all of him. He panted and whimpered when Tom's wet muscle swirled around his shaft and he could soon feel pressure building up in his lower abdomen. It felt so good that he wanted more – and it made the grip on his hips tightening in warning when he tried to reflexively thrust on his own. He frowned, but forced himself to remain still even though his legs felt like jelly right now.

"Tom… Nnh… I…I'm –" He moaned loudly when Tom only bobbed faster in response to his warning. Those dark eyes spoke volumes, and Harry could clearly make out the words  _'then come already'_  from them. His body tensed in preparation before he felt himself explode blissfully into Tom's sexy mouth with a hoarse cry.

Tom then slowly removed himself from Harry's gradually softening member with a slick  _pop_ , and Harry dazedly watched him as he swallowed Harry's cum. He absently brushed some of his white liquid seeds that had leaked out from his lover's lips using his thumb, before Tom stood up gracefully from his knees and supported Harry, whose legs were already trembling, by lifting him up. Harry was quick to wrap his legs around his lover's waist, with his hands firmly on Tom's broad shoulders, and his back against the cold shower stall's wall.

They kissed lazily for a short moment to give Harry time to recover from his state of rapture – and because Tom wanted Harry to taste himself as per usual – before Tom began trailing kisses down to his throat. He moaned softly when he felt a hand skillfully kneading one of his globes, whilst the other stopped at his chest and began pinching and twisting his right nipple.

Harry arched his back at the double stimuli he was receiving before he raised both his hands to place them at his lover's cheeks – bringing Tom in for a passionate kiss. He knew that his eyes were now half-lidded due to pleasure rather than his usual boredom.

"Nnh!" he made a low pleasurable sound when he felt a finger probing his rear entrance – already softened and wet due to being in the shower for an unknown duration of time.

"How convenient." Tom murmured as one of his long slender fingers that were sleeked with makeshift lubricant – soap, his mind conveniently provided – entered him without much of a problem.

"Tom…" He felt Tom's hardened arousal, which was rubbing against his lower abdomen, twitch at the way he breathily said his lover's name, and he licked his upper lip in anticipation.

Another finger was soon inserted and he grimaced slightly at the feeling of being stretched. It wasn't awful per say, more of a weird sensation that he would rather not think about whilst in this position. The fingers that were playing with his nipple soon moved upwards to fist his hair roughly, before they tilted his head backwards until his throat was completely bared. It used to bring him discomfort at exposing such a weakness to the future Dark Lord, but now he just accepted that this was Tom's way of showing his  _dominance_ over him – Tom hated being the younger one in this strange relationship of theirs. Love bites would undoubtedly be appearing around his throat and collar bone as Tom continued to suck and bite the region.

"Say that you want me, Harry…" Tom whispered breathily into his ear before he bit and tugged on Harry's earlobe.

"Tom… Ah…! I want y…you! Oh I want you!" he squirmed as yet another finger entered him. Those digits began searching for his sweet spot and as soon as his fuzzy mind thought about that, he saw white as Tom brushed against his prostate. "Ahn…! T-there… Tom! Right there!" he mewled as he arched off the wall.

The fingers soon disappeared and Harry whined at the loss, however they were soon replaced by a larger piece of meat he had come to known intimately as Tom's hardened length, nudging at his entrance. His nails bit into Tom's shoulders, but they both paid it no mind as Tom slowly entered him, inch by inch, until Tom was completely swallowed by his body.

Harry's lips parted and he gave a soundless scream – no matter how many times they did this, it would always hurt the first few seconds. Tom tucked some of Harry's stray strands behind his ear, before Tom leaned his forehead against Harry's. They stayed that way until Harry nodded as a sign for his lover to move. And move he did. Tom slowly slid out before pushing back in, the head of his lover's considerable length accurately hitting his prostate. He moaned loudly at the intense pleasure he felt.

"Ah…! Th…ere! H…Harder, Tom!"

Tom pulled out before pushing back inside, though a lot harder and speedy than before. Harry only continued to moan and repeatedly called out his lover's name, which made Tom more than a little enthusiastic – he was already ruthlessly pounding into Harry without remorse. They both preferred their  _lovemaking_  to be a little rough sometimes. 

Tom's hand soon grabbed and started pumping his member, and it made the pleasure unbearable to contain any longer from the double stimuli. Harry's muscles contracted as he came with a cry of his lover's name. The white warm liquid shot all over both of their chests, and he heard Tom's breathe hitch. His lover went rigid and Harry mewled at the feeling of Tom's hot liquid gushing into him. The pressure felt wonderful and after it had stopped, Harry collapsed onto his lover bonelessly.

The two then slowly slid down the wall – Tom being unable to support them when he himself felt his legs to be similar to jello. Harry felt more than see himself being manhandled until he was back to chest with Tom behind him, his lover's arms securely around his waist.

"We… should… clean up… again..."

Tom only hummed his agreement, but made no move to stand. Harry sighed and made himself comfortable… well, as comfortable as one can with a dick still inside of him of course.

* * *

He scowled as he wrapped a white scarf around his neck, mentally cursing Tom for giving him such noticeable hickeys. Tom's possessive nature was sometimes of a pain to deal with, always wanting to show others that Harry was taken – he wasn't even that good looking in his own eyes.

"Are you ready?" Tom peered through from the hallway and Harry shivered at the way those dark eyes roamed his figure almost hungrily.

Tom had prepared for him some fancy green dress robes – it matches his eyes, Tom had said – and he shifted uncomfortably in them. They snugged him at all the right places, and it was constricting at best. He truly preferred his usual polo shirts, sweat pants, and lab coat.

He just sighed through his nose and dragged his boot clad feet towards Tom, who was dressed in similar robes, but dark crimson in color. When he was close enough, Tom tapped in between his shoulder blades and he straightened up almost instantaneously – he really felt like a trained dog at times like this. How degrading...

"Now Harry… You shouldn't scowl so much. It'll ruin your beauty." Two of Tom's fingers poked him in between his brows and he swatted those offending digits away in mock offense, trying and failing to hide his reddening cheeks. This brat has always been flattering.

"Couldn't we just eat here?" He whined as he was led to their manor's living room, where the floo was located at.

"I've already reserved for us a table at this newly opened restaurant I've heard much about… And cease your whining, Harry. A man of your age should act like so."

"But you know that I detest going out in public, Tom. What if my…  _fans_  are there?" They stood in front of the fireplace, with Harry looking far too reluctant, and Tom giving him an annoyed look.

"Private room." Tom stated matter of factly and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. He wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and threw the powder into the fireplace, before they stepped forward, one more unenthusiastically than the other. "The Mystic Flare."

As they stepped out of the fireplace, Tom instantly banished all the soot that they had collected and strode confidently towards a female restaurant attendant… before he paused and turned around to drag his unwilling companion along by his elbows.

"Really… I feel like a parent dragging my very reluctant child to preschool." Tom whispered under his breath, though his expression still remained that of a charming  _prince_  – Harry could literally see every female in this room just undressing  _HIS_  Tom with their hungry eyes. The only sign that he was irritated by them was the split-second twitch of his eyebrows.

Without much thought – and because Tom had literally drilled this into his body – his posture became that of an aristocratic gentleman, and he strode alongside his adoptive son with equal grace that many would be envious of. His features were schooled into one of serene indifference as they were led by the restaurant attendant to their prearranged private room. His public mask, as Tom had dubbed it, was always worn when he has a meeting with one of his many clients – it has become apparent to him that his youthful features made his clients underestimate his skills for inventing, and they would treat him similar to that of an inexperience door-to-door salesman. For him to have his inventions taken seriously, he adapted. It was less troublesome that way.

When the door to their private room closed behind them, he sighed and plopped down onto one of the two seats without a care in the world. Tom, on the other hand, only shook his head as if expecting such an act from him, and seated himself directly opposite of Harry. The circular table was only wide enough for two people. Food had already been prepared for them beforehand, and Tom skillfully used his Magic to direct the wine into the two wineglasses atop their white-clothed tabletop. Tom picked up a wineglass and gestured for him to do the same, which he did.

They toasted and sampled their wine before Tom spoke.

"Well, what do you think?" Tom gestured around the room they were in, and Harry had to admit that the decorations were quite nicely done – the size of said room wasn't too big or small as well. There was a chandelier above their table, and floating candles situated all around the room. The wallpaper was on the darker shade of golden and had beautiful patterns drawn on them.

"It's alright I guess." He shrugged uncaringly and Tom only smiled at him fondly – as if knowing his true thoughts. Brat. 

Tom reached over the table for his plate and started to load it with different kinds of food before he returned said plate in front of Harry. Harry only stared down at the… unique dishes and looked up to see Tom doing the same for his own plate.

"Alright. I give. What's the special occasion?" He questioned curiously as he dug out his P7 potion and sprayed it on his and Tom's plate – the spray version was so much more convenient than the eye drop version.

"It's Yule, Harry. We're just having a family dinner."

"… I thought Winter Solstice was on the 21st?"

"You had a meeting with Abraxas's father during the 21st." Tom scooped some kind of broth and sipped it tentatively.

"What about the 22nd?" He blinked when Tom brought a spoon in front of him, and he opened his mouth to taste the broth. He hummed at the exotic taste, not quite sure if it was considered good or bad.

"You were holed up in your lab and tinkering with that metallic thing you call a bird."

"… Ms. Tweetiepoo is not a thing. She's a cute, loveable, adorable, beautiful –"

"More wine?"

"… No, but thank you, Tom." He pouted. "What about the 23rd?"

"You went to Gringotts to settle some official matters concerning your Will."

"The 24th…?"

"You were too sore to move." Was said smugly and Harry flushed at the reminder. This audacious little brat…

"Why don't you try being the bottom and see if you could still walk after I'm through with you." He whispered under his breath, but apparently not soft enough. Tom blinked owlishly for a few moments before he chortled. It made Harry sulk all the more and he murmured nonsense under his breath.

"Alright."

"I knew you wouldn't–… I'm sorry, what?" It was Harry's turn to blink owlishly.

"I said, alright." Tom repeated with an amused smirk on his face.

He could only stare at the future Dark Lord in disbelief as he struggled to process Tom's words. Without meaning to, his mind drifted off – Tom moaning his name from underneath him, Tom's beautifully blushing face contorted with pleasure… Harry's face turned bright crimson and he coughed violently when he choked on his wine.

"You can consider that as a Yule present from me." Tom purred as he leaned forward and gave Harry a seductive smirk.

"I will… Uhm… consider that… yeah."

"And as for mine… I've always wanted to have sex with you at the beach."

Harry groaned and covered his beet red face with his hands, not believing that Tom could be so bold in a public setting – even if this was a private room.

"Is sex the only thing on your mind?"

"Not really." Tom waved his spoon from side to side. "I think about world domination as well."

Harry deadpanned. And here he thought Tom was only planning to take over Britain. He shook his head and stabbed a piece of meat, wondering if every Yule would be just as interesting as this one. He might even come to enjoy such holidays if so.

* * *

_**Rainbows and Santa Claus,  
GenderlessPerson** _


	7. Chapter 7

_10 January 1938  
Location: Scotland, Odd Manor, Hadrian's Study_

Harry resisted the sudden and unwelcome urge to murder someone – preferably the sender – as he stared agitatedly at the piece of parchment he was tightly clutching. It was just another day at Odd Manor, and whilst he was busy with drawing his preferred designs for a newly framed eyeglass, a beautiful midnight black owl had swooped through his opened windows and dropped an envelope on his desk in front of him before it flew off to who knows where.

He blinked his half-lidded eyes curiously. Nobody in the Past knew of him, apart from the Goblins that is, to send him a letter. He has yet to begun selling any of his original creations due to all the ingredients and parts missing – it was still a sore spot for him since many of them were found in the far Future.

Before he even dared to touch the envelope, he cast a few detection spells just in case. One can never be too careful about owl mails. Constant Vigilance and all that. Once the results showed negative, he broke the circular wax seal and pulled out the parchment from within.

_Dear Lord Gryffindor,_

_The pleasure of your company is requested_  
for dinner and dancing in celebration of our 10 _th_ __  
Wedding Anniversary. January 20 _th_   
_1900Hours_   
_Malfoy Manor_

_Lord Darius and Madam Astoria Malfoy_

_We await your response no later than January 15_ _th_

"What…?" The word slipped passed his lips as he reread the contents with disbelief. The Goblins would never dare to betray him – his vaults contained  _a lot_  of gold. They knew better than to sell him out. It would be more of their lost than his. 

He ran a hand through his strands by habit and rummaged his desk drawers for a new piece of parchment. He needed to find out if there was a leak, and the Goblins were the best investigators if provided with enough dough.

He smoothened out the crumpled parchment and dipped the tip of his fountain pen into his inkpot.

_Bloodfang_

_I need you to set up an investigation_

_Find out_ _any_ _information, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem, regarding the discovery of my existence_

_I expect results by January 14_ _th_ _and no later_

_Hadrian_

What he wrote may be considered rude towards other Wizards and Witches, but his Gryffindor account manager knew of his disregard for any form of niceties. He was always blunt and to the point. The Goblins and he made good business partners that way, seeing that they both had their own reasons for not wanting to waste their time with pleasantries and small talks.

He took out a small rectangular wooden box from within the depths of his desk drawer and lifted the lid. The inside of said box had the Gringotts logo as well as the Gryffindor and Peverell crests engraved onto it. He then rolled the parchment in his hands and tied it with a conjured red string, before dropping it inside the box and closing its lid.

The box lit up for exactly five seconds and Harry only lifted the lid after the light had died down. Once it was confirmed that the parchment was in fact gone, he returned the box to where it came from and raked a hand through his hair.

The rectangular wooden box worked similar to that of a Muggle fax machine from his original timeline, and it had been his idea to introduce this to the Goblins – he had been frustrated at how time-consuming the owls took, and he didn't want to head down to the bank every single time he had to pass an important document to his account managers. The Goblins then had bought the method of making this so called  _fax box_  from him after a few tests were performed, and they've used it ever since. They introduced this to their wealthy clients and had thanked him for such a convenient creation. It was far superior and safer than any owl mail due to lesser time consumption and little to no chance of intercepting. Additionally, the Goblins charged more than it was worth. Those scammers.

He slumped into his comfortable office chair and sighed through his nose. He must've forgotten to put up an anti-owl ward around the manor, and because of this tiny mistake, he could not pretend that he did not receive any form of the invitation from the Malfoys. To reject them would make an enemy out of them, and that would potentially escalate Tom's hatred for him – he had a suspicion that that boy had a plan to make Malfoy jr his follower. For what, he didn't know, but he hoped that Tom would not turn out to be Voldemort.

A Magical prodigy Voldemort was, but insanity could make even the most genius of men become fools. It was as they say; there was a fine line between genius and stupidity.

Lunch was not for another hour and he was already dead tired. He sighed and stood up, intending to forget the letter and go on his day as planned. There was someone he needed to track, and he would not continue to delay it any further.

* * *

_10 January 1938  
Location: Knockturn Alley_

He stood idly with his hands inside his pockets, oblivious to the other occupants of Knockturn that were sneering at him for having stopped abruptly at the middle of a busy road. He mind them not and started to extend his Magical aura around him – this technique, Circular Radar or CR for short, was something many Aurors were required to learn. He would be alerted to anything and any movements that entered his radius of 900m. He wasn't an expert in this particular field, so 900 was the maximum he could do.

Harry started to randomly walk whilst he continuously held up the invisible sphere, wishing that the person he was searching for would mysteriously fall from the sky and into his awaiting arms. 

When he was finally finished with walking around Knockturn, he immediately released his hold on his CR and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was taxing, all the more for someone who had not continued to practice it.

A parchment then Magically appeared in front of him, and he snatched it out of the air. He conjured a pen and crossed out Knockturn Alley. His eyes moved lower. Time to move onto Sexu Alley.

_OOOO_

The search proved fruitless. He had already searched all of the Alleys, and the only logical conclusion he could come up with was that  _she_  was residing in the Muggle world. He frowned. If only the internet was already invented in this timeline, he would have found that woman by now.

There was also a slim chance that she was in another country or not in this timeline at all. The latter seemed more realistic, however, Magic wasn't something that could be measured with reality. To be a magnificent inventor, he needed imagination and creativity.

Harry let out a long sigh of exhaustion and sat himself down on one of the many benches that were situated near him. Perhaps he should try a simple Point me spell. It was unlikely to work, but he was already out of ideas – and he was hungry. He idly wondered what Tom was doing as he took out his wand.

"Point me…" He envisioned her face as he called out the first thing he had always called her by. "SR12."

As expected, his magical stick lay uselessly on his palm. He knew it was useless. The Point me spell needed a name, not a label. He sighed yet again and moved to re-sheath his wand, but stopped when he felt it twitch. He blinked his half lidded eyes and tried the Point me spell once more. This time, he concentrated properly. Much to his amazement, it had worked since his wand whirled quickly around a few times before it stopped. He made a mental note to experiment this further before he conjured a compass and nodded to himself. Northeast it is.

He knew his gut feeling was true when he thought about SR12. She was in the same room he was in when he was transported through time, therefore, there should be a 50% chance that she was transported as well. He needed to know her experience and what had happened after she woke up. Perhaps next time he went to do something, he should try the basics of spells before going all out.

The walk was dreadful. That was the only thing in his mind as he panted in exhaustion – he had walked for an entire of two hours.  _Two_  bloody hours. He thanked all lucky stars that he was currently wearing his hover boots. It had lessened the strain he was feeling, but only by a tiny amount since his invention was still a prototype. They were unable to work like brooms just yet.

He was an indoors kind of person who hated exercise to the core. The sun was literally burning down on him, and he would undoubtedly have a severe case of sunburn once he returned to his manor. The cooling charm worked wonders to cool off his body temperature, preventing heatstroke, but it was not meant to be a skin protection spell. He made another mental note to invent one as he stared at the rundown apartment building in front of him.

How she was able to gain money to live in an apartment was a mystery to him, but heck, he didn't care. He wanted to be out of the sun as soon as humanly possible. With tired legs, he strode inside said apartment building and sighed in relief when he was finally sheltered from the evil natural oven known to mankind as the sun.

When he finally stopped in front of a wooden door that was labeled with a big 9, he tapped the tip of his wand over his head and cast a disillusionment charm on himself. He then flicked his wand to the door to unlock it silently. He quietly entered and closed it after him, before stalking towards the direction of where he heard noises coming from.

He entered what seemed to be the kitchen and immediately perked up when he saw his beloved SR12 cooking a late lunch for herself. When she turned around, Harry had to rub his eyes to see if he had seen wrongly. Her appearance… has changed, for the lack of better wording. Perhaps this was SR12's roommate? 

... The  _tattoo_  on her left forearm stated otherwise, though.

She still has her long wavy chestnut brown hair and hazel round eyes. However, that was all that had remained the same. Her lashes were thicker and longer, and her bigger than average hooked nose was now straight and sharp. Her lips that used to be on par with sausages were now plump and looked delectably kissable. He shook his head at the thoughts in his head, horrified at what he was actually thinking about his Squib Rat in that way.

He instantly pointed his wand at her and shot a stunner, which made her unconscious immediately. The bowl that she was carrying shattered next to her from the unexpected fall. He then dispelled the disillusionment charm and carried her like she was a sack of potatoes.

Without much thought, he apparated them back to Odd manor.

* * *

_Tom's POV_

Tom jumped slightly in surprise at his guardian's unexpected arrival. He was frankly, engrossed in his reading when Harry had suddenly appeared directly in front of him. The crack was soft, almost inaudible, but his sharp hearing was something he was proud of. He held back a scathing remark that almost slipped out from his slightly parted lips and went back to his reading, intending to ignore the infuriating man who kept on forgetting his existence… before he did a double take.

Harry was staring at him with his usual look of disinterest, whilst carrying an unconscious woman on his right shoulder. Tom was curious, yet slightly perturbed by his guardian's capricious behavior. Every time he assumed that he had  _finally_  figured his guardian out, Harry would do something unexpected to throw off all of Tom's careful calculated observations into a metaphorical trash can. It was downright maddening!

"Tom, have you eaten yet?" Harry greeted him as if he wasn't carrying an unconscious woman on his shoulder, who might or might not, at this point of time, be dead.

"… I have not. Would it be a bother if I ask for your company?" He questioned slowly, a small shy smile playing on his lips. He  _needed_  Harry to sit through a meal with him for better chances of Harry slipping. It had not worked in the past, but hell if he was giving up. Tom was stubborn that way.

His guardian frowned lightly in thought as if checking his schedule (Tom was supposed to be first priority!) before he nodded.

"I'll be at the table in five minutes."

Harry turned on his heels and strode off to who knows where. He could never find his guardian sometimes, and he could only assume that there were hidden chambers around the manor, which he might add, he was never able to find even till now. He called out one of the house elves and told it that Harry and he would be having their late lunch now. The elf bowed and popped away as soon as he had dismissed the creature.

With an inaudible sigh, he made his way to their private dining area. Hopefully, today would be the day that he would finally find out more about his father. He still wanted to know why Harry felt so familiar; it was as if they were one person. It was curious. Harry was a puzzle, and oh, how he loves them so.

* * *

  _ **Rainbows and Invitations,**_

_**GenderlessPerson** _


	8. Chapter 8

 

_20 January 1938_

_Location: Scotland, Odd Manor, Floo Room_

Harry's overly soured expression spoke volumes of how willing he was to leave his home as he grabbed his personal bag of Floo powder atop his fireplace mantel. He was not in the mood to entertain, and to be honest, quite vexed at this moment. The conversation with Bloodfang had turned into a disaster. and he had been tempted to curse the living daylights out of that blabbermouth drunk. The short halfling was saved only due to Harry's unwillingness to lift his wand. It took far too much effort.

He was, of course, reassured by the higher ups that the incident of his  _supposedly_  secret identity shan't be leaked out any further, but he was sceptical at best. He had demanded a change of goblin to be his account manager, and it was approved swiftly. The only positive outcome from that whole troublesome incident was the goblin race owed him one. A big one. Too bothersome to explain why, but meh.

A polite cough was heard from behind of him. Oh, Merlin, save him from an incoming headache that was Tom.

With a somewhat resigned expression, he turned around. The boy looked curiously at him, and Harry almost facepalmed. He had forgotten to inform his adoptive son about the celebration they had (were forced) to attend.

"Ok Tom, I don't have much time to explain, but I need you to get into any of your formal wear, dress robes included - as fast as humanly possible." The boy's brow twitched a little, but he smiled, nodded, and ran off to do as asked. Harry released a sigh of relief, glad that no questions were asked. Yet.

People might question as to why Harry wanted Tom to dress as fancy as could be, whereas Harry himself only wore his usual polo shirt and sweat pants inside of some random formal robes, but if one came to know Harry well enough, this was the best he dressed - they were clean, pressed, and smelt nothing of internal organs.

A few minutes passed by and soon, Tom returned, looking like a perfect Pureblood heir. Harry idly wondered where Tom learnt to match his robes, but shrugged it off in favor of wrapping one of his arms around the boy's (tensed) shoulders, and pulling him close. Not too close, though. His other free hand was used to throw a handful of Floo powder, and soon, he all but spat out those cursed words, "Malfoy Manor."

The two disappeared before reappearing in a flash of green flames inside another room, vastly different from theirs. This room held expensive decorations that would make any thief drool with want. Portraits of previous deceased Malfoy Lords were observing them with judging eyes, much to Harry's distaste. The room was exactly the same as in his timeline, with a few missing portraits of course.

They were greeted by an elf clothed in rags and was ushered to the ballroom, which to Harry's experience, was exactly five minutes and thirty-nine seconds away. Much lesser than the entrance to the ballroom, but still quite a walk away.

Since they had time, Harry decided that it would be best to brief Tom as much as possible, lest the boy despises him even more for making him go in blind.

"We're in the manor of Lord Darius and Madam Astoria Malfoy," He began, his voice barely above a whisper, yet the youngling heard him as clear as day. It just shows Harry how inhumane Voldemort was, even when the Dark Lord was but a child. "attending their 10th wedding anniversary. They have a son, Abraxas, who is a year younger than you, and a daughter, who is deceased. It is well known to not mention her in any way or form."

He paused for a second, allowing Tom to absorb the information that he had freely given before he continued. "We are here because they have invited me, and in the extension you, mostly because of a rumor they have coincidentally heard from a drunk goblin stating that I am of the Gryffindor lineage. Avoid mentioning your blood status, and distract them if needed. Never introduce yourself as a Gryffindor or hint that you are related to that name in any form. Be sure to stick close to me, and keep your emotions off your face. These people sniff weaknesses like a shark scenting blood."

They stopped just in front of two massive double doors, and Harry turned to Tom, kneeling down on one knee whilst at it, his face comically serious. "We will leave as soon as possible, so try to endure, and learn, as much as you can." As he made to get up, Harry hesitated before reaching over to hug Tom. "There is only a slight chance of him being there, however if you see Albus Dumbledore, stay clear away from him. He's dangerous."

With that, he let go and stood up, completely missing the baffled expression on young Tom's face at Harry's show of affection. The elf's wide tennis eyes were staring at them, and when Harry nodded, it snapped its fingers. The double doors opened, revealing a horde of people mingling around each other, a soft background music playing to relax the atmosphere.

As if another person had taken over, Harry's spine snapped straight, his hands resting inside his pockets without a care, and his expression changed to borderline contempt as he observed the people in the room, as if they were mere insects in comparison to him.

Oh how he hated Pureblood gatherings, but he would do this once, just once, for Tom to experience first hand how to behave in these events. After all, Tom needed all the help he could get for him to be the Lord of Darkness. Perhaps if Harry helped the boy through the early stages, Tom would respect him enough in the future to leave him out of the war.

That thought was firmly implanted in his mind as he walked up to Lord Malfoy, eyes calculating and for the first time in Tom's life living with Harry, seen the genius behind his adoptive father's bored demeanour. Harry was never to be underestimated by the young orphan ever again that night.

* * *

_Tom's POV_

Just as they stopped in front of a pale man with a pointed face, pale blond hair and cold grey eyes, Tom almost turned to stare at his guardian with disbelief when he heard how chilling the man's voice was. The only thing that was stopping him was Harry's earlier advice of not showing any emotions around these people - Purebloods, he thought with disdain.

Idly, Tom wondered if blood was truthfully everything.

"Lord Malfoy." Harry greeted, narrowed and dangerous eyes focused solely upon the blond, who had frozen upon hearing his name being said in such a way. "Thank you for your invitation, and congratulations for having such a blessed 10 years of marriage." Tom didn't know if his  _father_  was being sarcastic or not, since there was not an ounce of emotion being displayed. He would never want to admit it, but he found it frightening, yet at the same time very awe-inspiring.

His eyes brightened as he centred his attention solely onto the two adults, and made sure that this evening was something he will never forget.

It took a moment for Lord Malfoy to unfroze, but when he did, those grey eyes of his focused only upon Harry's aristocratic features, completely dismissing the fact that Tom was standing right there, much to the young Dark-Lord-to-Be irritation.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, and thank you for your kind words." There was a pause as if the host was unsure as to who his guest was before it was replaced with false confidence that Tom could transparently see through. Nothing that could compare to the unbreakable wall that was his adoptive father. Again, Tom would never admit that he felt his respect for Harry rise. And, as loathe as he would admit it, thought that if Harry was indeed his biological father, Tom would not mind it too much.

Harry merely tilted his head to the side, his lips curled upwards with amusement. "If I had not known better, I would have thought that you, Lord Malfoy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy, appear to be confused as to whom I am. Clearly, I must be mistaken? A Pureblood Lord such as yourself would never make such a blunder." There was a glint in those beautiful green eyes of his, and both Tom and Lord Malfoy were clearly mesmerized.

It took longer for the Lord to look away from Harry's gaze, and the two Gryffindors could clearly see that Lord Malfoy had trouble swallowing his pride to admit.

"I am ashamed to admit my fault, however, I am but a man." The Malfoy Lord smiled apologetically, as if the two guests in front of him were naive enough to fall for such a façade, and tried to regain his dignity. "You must be Lord Hadrian Gryffindor." The blonde waited for any sign of being correct, and when Harry deigned it enough time for him to respond with an affirmative, Lord Malfoy almost lit up as if Yule had come early, in a subtle way of course. "It is such an honour to meet one of the four founders' descendants. I have heard much of your pristine lineage from the previous Malfoy Lords. If I may be so bold, Lord Gryffindor, has your family finally decided to return back to England?"

Tom was frankly disgusted by the man's eagerness to please, even if it was hard to spot. The blonde Lord was as expressionless as he could be, but there was this certain twitch of body language that only a perceptive person such as himself could take notice on. Were the Malfoys that much desperate to have connections to one of the four founding lineages of Hogwarts? If so, why? Was the name Gryffindor so powerful? Why did nothing he read specify anything of importance? And what did the blonde mean about returning back to England? So many questions!

For now, however, he would gladly take advantage of one Abraxas Malfoy in the future if he were anything like his father. The younger blonde would make a perfect minio-... he meant friends, forTom.

"I do hope that what you have heard was in the pleasant light. It would be embarrassing if otherwise. And of course, the honor is all mine. Although Lord Malfoy, I would be more than pleased if you would keep the word of my appearance to yourself." Lord Malfoy looked about to protest, but Harry paid it no mind as he continued. "Today is not the day that I am willing to let the world know of my presence just yet, but when the day comes, you shall be the first to know, I can guarantee that."

The way Harry worded it was as if Lord Malfoy was the very most important person in Harry's eyes, and it seemed to work when Lord Malfoy smirked and gestured for them (Harry, since Tom was still unnoticed) to walk with him, leaving the previous question to shimmer into nothing. It was as if the blonde had forgotten all that he had asked, much to Tom's displeasure - he had wanted answers as well.

Harry merely nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as if he trusted the Lord of the Malfoy house to finally let his guard down. When they walked, Harry's eyes flickered over to Tom, and clearly, he received the message. He gave a minuscule nod at Harry, and followed silently, hidden away from the blonde's sight, yet within his adoptive (biological?) father's.

The night continued in that fashion until they were back at their home, with Tom having memorized everything Harry did - mannerism and all. From that night onwards, Tom never looked at Harry the same way he did previously. And for Harry? He would come to regret ever showing Tom how to dance with the Purebloods this early in the stage.

* * *

 

 ** _Rainbows and Respect,_ **  
**_GenderlessPerson_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. Hopefully, you guys enjoyed this chapter.  
> [Edited: 20/12/2015] There were a few holes and mistakes due to me rushing. Correctly all.... I think.


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